


Out of the Shadows

by Carpenoctemily



Series: Second Chances [4]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), Supernatural, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Amnesia, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Character Development, Comic Book Science, Crossover, Developing Friendships, Disability, Explicit Language, Fake Science, Gen, Gun Violence, Implied/Referenced Torture, Medical Inaccuracies, Memory Loss, Memory Related, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Past Torture, Past Violence, Physical Disability, Psychological Trauma, Sam Winchester Has Mental Health Issues, Sam Winchester with Superpowers, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Sam Winchester's Visions, Sam Winchester-centric, Scientific Inaccuracies, Supernatural Elements, Superpowers, Temporary Character Death, The Winchesters and The Law, Trauma, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2020-01-05 08:00:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 94,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18361889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carpenoctemily/pseuds/Carpenoctemily
Summary: Over a year after he first arrived in New York, Sam Winchester has finally found a place for himself in the shadows of Manhattan. But old problems and new enemies may force him to step into the spotlight—or risk losing his friends, his home, and his life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back!
> 
> This third installment in Sam's Darkside story will introduce a few more Marvel characters to the story, so I'd like to restate the timeline changes.
> 
> This series takes place in a universe where every Marvel movie, with the exception of Infinity War and Thor: Ragnarok, has occurred. Any other relevant timeline changes will be explained or mentioned within the story itself, but if you ever have any questions about the timeline (either for Marvel or Supernatural), leave a comment and I'll explain to the best of my abilities.
> 
> Thanks again, and I hope you enjoy!

"All rise."

_Dust floats through the air, coating Sam's skin in layers that build with every motion, filling his lungs with every breath. It's unavoidable, intertwined with the very oxygen in the air, too fine to filter but too thick to safely breathe. With every panicked, gasping breath, Sam suffocates._

"Are both sides ready?"

_Blood drips down the walls and collects in pools on the floor, almost black in the low light of the room. Sam strains against the chains on his wrists but he can't move, can't free himself. He can feel the poison surging through his veins, can feel it taking over him. It burns as it travels through his body, and Sam knows that it's far too late to keep the blood from running its course and corrupting him._

"Ready for the People, Your Honor."

_Black eyes stare down at Sam as he fights to his feet only to be forced back to his knees. His friends scream his name from across the room, but their voices are barely whispers in his ears, too far away to be of any help. A silver blade comes down on Sam's head, and he merely closes his eyes, accepting his fate._

"Ready for the Defense, Your Honor."

_Sam's eyes catch on a head of red hair as a gun is pointed at his forehead. He waits for the deadly shot to come but the weapon disappears, and a hand grabs Sam's head, forcing it into the ground until Sam hears his skull crack. The sharp pain is followed by a dull heat that throbs in time with Sam's heartbeat, then another sharp pain follows, and suddenly there's no pain at all—or anything else._

"Will the jury please stand and raise your right hand?"

_The body lying at Sam's feet is far too small, far too young. Sam wants to help, wants to do something, anything to save the child, but they're gone, soul vacant and body dim. Sam is helpless, held back by tendrils of darkness that wrap around his wrists like chains, manacles of shadow that are stronger than Sam could ever hope to be. Pain shoots through Sam's stomach like a dagger, and he gasps, dropping to the ground as the shadows vanish, leaving him alone to die as familiar faces look on in silence, doing nothing to save Sam._

"Sam, are you with me?" A hand touches Sam's shoulder, and he jerks away, blinking rapidly to clear his vision and looking up to see Natasha standing beside him, concern written all over her face—or at least, prevalent enough in her expression that Sam can see it.

"What? Yeah- Yeah, I'm fine." Sam says, shaking his head. "Just... memories." Natasha nods, although she's clearly skeptical—and rightly so. Most of what Sam saw was likely memories, but he's pretty sure the last flash of scattered images was something he hasn't encountered before.

Ever since he fought the Judge last December, Sam has had visions and memories that blur together, flashes of each intertwining into something almost impossible to sort through. Sam doesn't know exactly what's going on—and even though the flashes started over four months ago, he has yet to approach anyone else about them—but he figures that the head injury he received courtesy of the Judge has done something to his vision, cracking them open and leaving them scattered through his brain. It's a pain—literally, Sam's pre-vision headaches are back with a vengeance—but Sam figures it's better his visions were cracked than his skull.

"Court's adjourned for the day," Natasha says, offering Sam a hand and pulling him to his feet. "Steve suggested we grab some lunch."

Sam follows Natasha out of the courtroom, memories of his last appearance in this same room echoing painfully in his ears—cries of "Innocent! Innocent!" and the final announcement of "Not Guilty" are often present in the swirling storm of memories that Sam finds himself caught up in far too often.

When they reach the courthouse door, Sam takes a breath to steady himself and nods to Natasha, who pushes the door open and exposes a sea of cameras.

It's been four and a half months since Sam was exonerated of the deaths in Lebanon, but his popularity—and in some cases infamousy—has yet to face. Whenever Sam goes out in public—which isn't often, for this very reason—he's hounded by cameramen Tony says aren't reporters but paparazzi—people paid to get pictures of Sam and sell them to shitty gas station magazines.

Sam still isn't sure why anyone would want to pay for a picture of him.

Whatever the reason, the public's continued interest in Sam means that the Avengers still aren't letting him off the leash—one of them is almost always with him, and whenever he goes on patrols while the Avengers are on a mission, Matt is rarely too far behind.

Speaking of Matt, Sam is surprised to find him and Foggy sitting at the table when Natasha and Sam arrive at the restaurant Steve picked out—it's a sandwich shop that, Steve quickly explains, Tony said was once recommended to him by a friend. Natasha sits down beside Bucky, who is on Steve's left, and Sam sits down beside Matt, who is on Foggy's right. Everyone orders their food, and the reason for the lawyers' presence at the table is quickly explained when Matt turns his attention to Sam.

"The prosecution wants to call you as a witness in Barnes's trial," Matt says. Sam nods hesitantly—Bucky's trial only officially started today, but the wheels have been turning since long before Sam arrived at Avengers Tower last October—not entirely surprised that the prosecution wants to use him to get to Bucky.

"Why?" Steve asks, looking between Matt and Foggy curiously and then eyeing Bucky, who ducks his head.

Sam was expecting Bucky to be represented by Tony's team of lawyers, so when he learned that Matt and Foggy would be representing Bucky, he assumed that they had volunteered their services. As it turns out, Bucky personally asked for Matt and Foggy to represent them—he later told Sam that they were the only lawyers he trusted, on account of what they did for Sam last year.

"The prosecution wants to associate two people of dubious standing and questionable character," Foggy says. "'Oh, look, Sam and Barnes are all buddy-buddy, so they must both be terrible people.'" The impression of the prosecutor is pitched a good octave above Foggy's usual speaking voice and the rest of the table chuckles, watching with amusement as Foggy gestures overdramatically between Sam and Bucky.

"It might not be that bad of an idea," Sam admits, much to Matt's surprise if the expression on his face is any indication. "I mean, other than Steve, I'm probably one of Bucky's best character witnesses. Plus, my legal standing isn't as dubious as the prosecution seems to think, and most of the public appears to be under the impression that my character isn't that questionable at all." Matt tilts his head to one side for a minute then nods, apparently seeing the point to Sam's words.

"Either way, I'd like to keep you off the stand if we can help it," Matt says after a moment, shaking his head. Steve's name is called, and Natasha and Bucky both stand, letting Steve out of the booth. Steve and Natasha head to the counter to grab everyone's lunch but Bucky slides back into the booth, frowning.

"Why?" He asks, voice low and head ducked—Bucky seldom goes out in public if he can avoid it, and when he does he tends to try to make himself as small as possible. Sam knows that this trial is going to be hard on him, if not because of the unpleasant memories the trial will dredge up then because of the excess media attention.

"We managed to keep Sam from testifying during his own trial," Matt explains, "so we didn't have to worry about him having to lie under oath. But any session on the stand is an opportunity for the prosecution to ask Sam a leading question that forces him to decide between committing perjury or revealing something about his past or even about Darkside." Bucky nods, and Sam smiles sympathetically.

"You'll be fine," Sam says as reassuringly as he can. "Everyone knows that you're innocent. It's just a matter of going through the motions." Sam's words aren't entirely true—he doesn't think there's a single case where  _everyone_  agrees—but the sentiment is. Bucky won't go to prison, the Avengers won't allow it. Just like Sam's trial, the trial of the Winter Soldier is less about determining guilt and more about appeasing the people.

Steve and Natasha return with the sandwiches and the conversation lapses into silence, each person absorbed in their own thoughts. In Sam's case, he quickly finds himself stuck on the scenes he saw in his latest episode of visions in the courtroom.

Most of the images are easy enough for Sam to recognize—Lebanon, Sam's months with the demons, and his final fights with the Demon and the Judge—but that last scene is new, even among the many scattered visions Sam has been witnessing as of late. Sam didn't recognize the kid, but he did know the people who were standing around him as he died. It was the Avengers who were gathered there, watching Sam bleed out.

Assuming that what Sam saw was a vision rather than a nightmare—and considering the headache Sam is currently sporting, he's betting on the former—why don't the Avengers try to save Sam?

And what exactly is it that kills him? 

* * *

The rest of lunch passes uneventfully—when conversation resumes, the topic is the Avengers Compound upstate, where Steve, Bucky, and Natasha have been living since late March. Avengers Tower is still in Tony's possession, and Tony himself still lives there, as does Sam—although he isn't sure how much longer the tower will be available to him after Tony finally joins the rest of the Avengers upstate.

The excitement returns, however, after the group pays for their food and exits the restaurant. Sam isn't surprised to find people waiting outside—between him and the Avengers, there's almost always a crowd waiting when they leave any building but Avengers Tower—but he isn't expecting two men to step directly in the path of the Avengers and their friends.

"Sam Winchester." The blond man says with venom in his tone, and Sam almost groans—just because the court has exonerated him doesn't mean that everyone agrees with the decision, and Sam has just as many protestors following him around at any given time as paparazzi.

"Can we help you?" Steve asks, taking the blond's rude tone as his cue to step directly between the pair and Sam. It's an attempt to defuse the situation—one that fails miserably as the blond curls his hand into a fist and lands a blow directly on Steve's jaw.

Sam watches in mute disbelief as the blond and his brunet friend launch a vigorous attack on Steve and Natasha, able to hold their own through brute force—although they're helped somewhat by the fact that Natasha and Steve are actively trying to avoid hurting them. Bucky is quick to remove himself from the action, grabbing Sam's arm with his metal hand and backing away from the fight. Sam and Bucky back into the wall of the sandwich shop and they're soon joined by Matt, whose head is cocked to one side as he attempts to keep track of the fight. After a minute, Foggy steps directly in front of Sam, Bucky, and Matt, making himself the final barrier.

After a minute, the brunet manages to get past Steve and Natasha, and Sam winces sympathetically when Foggy is removed from the equation by a knee to the groin. Matt takes Foggy's pained grunt as his cue to step forward, likely hoping that the angry men will stop short of assaulting a blind man—even if they won't show the same courtesy to Captain America.

The brunet does actually hesitate when he sees Matt standing in his path, but the issue is quickly resolved by the blond, who pulls a gun out of his jeans and points it between Steve and Natasha—and directly at Sam's chest.

"Stop!" He shouts, and Steve and Natasha—as well as the rapidly gathering crowd of bystanders and cops—fall both still and silent.

"Son, you don't want to do this," Steve says, hands raised placatingly as he looks between Sam and the blond, his expression schooled into one of faux calm. The Avengers, Matt, and Foggy all know that Sam can quickly stop a bullet long before it reaches him, but saving his own life would come at the cost of exposing Darkside to the world.

Sam would almost prefer to take the bullet.

"Yeah, actually, I do." The blond says with a sneer, and Sam grimaces when the brunet draws a weapon as well, directing his at Sam's forehead and gesturing for Sam to raise his hands. Sam obeys hesitantly, looking between the two angry men and trying to decide if his cover identity is worth his life.

A year ago, Sam wouldn't have hesitated to say yes. Darkside was Sam's better half, the hero Sam wanted to be. But now, Sam himself has started to be regarded by some as a hero.

As usual, Sam is stuck between a rock and a hard place.

"Alright, you've got our attention," Natasha asks cooly. "Now what do you want?"

"We want Sam here to pay for what he did." The blond says. "You killed our brother!" The blond's voice cracks on the word 'brother,' and he falls silent, shaking his head.

"He was thirteen." The brunet continues when it becomes evident that the blond can't. "Thirteen years old, and he died that day. Suffocated, buried beneath the remains of his karate studio." Sam closes his eyes at this, unwilling to risk his demon sight making an appearance in conjunction with the wave of emotions that crashes over him.

What Sam said to Matt at lunch wasn't entirely true—Sam's reputation is far from pristine. There are a lot of people who were unhappy with the fact that Sam got off scot-free, none more so than the victims of the Lebanon bombing and their families.

Neither man speaks again, and when Sam opens his eyes, he discovers that neither gun is still being pointed at him.

"You killed our brother." The blond says lamely, all anger gone from his tone, his hand hanging loosely at his side but the gun still in his grip. After a moment, he offers Sam a broken but malicious smile, shaking his head. "You don't deserve to die for it. You deserve to live the rest of your life wishing that you had."

With that, both brothers drop their weapons to the ground, their protest apparently now over. Steve and Natasha have both men on the ground in seconds, ready to be passed off to the police officers who quickly swarm the scene. As the crowd of bystanders begins to become saturated with reporters, Steve and Natasha herd the rest of their small group back into the restaurant and out the back exit, into the alley.

"Well, that was exciting," Matt says, shaking his head. "Sam, I'm thinking that you should maybe stay away from court for the time being."

"Yeah, I had the same feeling." Sam agrees, nodding to Bucky. "I'll be supporting you from the sidelines instead." Bucky returns the nod and adds a soft smile, remaining silent—he's probably a bit shaken thanks to the unexpected attack.

"We should head back to the compound," Steve says with a sharp sigh, rubbing his jaw where the blond attacker's first punch connected—there's no bruise yet, but Sam wouldn't be surprised if one formed in the next few hours. "Car's just around the corner, Buck, come on." Steve, Bucky, and Natasha say their farewells and exit the alley, and as soon as they're gone, Matt turns his attention to Sam, tilting his head to the side.

"Are you alright?" Matt asks. "That can't have been fun."

"What, being reminded of my mistakes, or having two guns pointed at me?" Sam asks rhetorically, shaking his head and offering Matt a smile that probably looks about as fake as it feels. "Been through both before. I'm sure it will happen again, and again."

"Until we find and convict whoever really bombed Lebanon, yeah, probably." Foggy agrees. "The victims of the attack just want someone to blame."

"We should head back to the office and start working on our next steps for Barnes's trial." Matt decides. "Sam, are you good getting home?"

"Tony offered to send a car, but honestly, I think I'm just going to teleport," Sam admits, biting the inside of his cheek.

"See you later, then," Foggy says, heading for the street.

"Patrol tonight?" Sam questions before Matt can leave, and Matt nods.

"I'll meet you at Karen's apartment," Matt says—Karen's roof has quickly become the regular meeting place for the two vigilantes. Sam voices his agreement and Matt walks over to Foggy, only to pause at the entrance to the alley and turn back around. "Stay safe, Sam."

"I'll do my best," Sam replies—it's the only promise he can really make. Matt nods, and he and Foggy disappear into the street.

Sam ducks behind a dumpster to teleport back to Avengers Tower, but the image of Tony waiting for him in the lounge has Sam hesitating, doubt filling his mind.

Between his worrying vision and the attack outside the sandwich shop, Sam is feeling more rattled than he has in several months. Sam knows that there are a lot of people who aren't happy with his freedom—knows that despite that, his friends are steadfast in their support.

But seeing the Avengers in that vision has shaken Sam's confidence. He can't imagine why they would ever abandon him like that, leave him to die, just watching. Waiting.

Sam is confident that his vision was missing pieces—almost everything he's been seeing lately has been—but the chunks that weren't present can't possibly explain the circumstances.

Sam has been betrayed before, by monsters and humans alike. But not once has a friend every watched him die and not even lifted a finger to help. No one has ever broken his trust quite that thoroughly.

Unless Sam did something to break their trust first, Sam realizes, eyes widening in horror as he recalls the opening scene of his fractured vision.

A child, young, vaguely familiar in the way that most faces in Sam's visions are. Dead, bloodied and pale, body twisted. That death is significant, whoever it is. 

Unless it's not the kid who's important, but the killer.

Sam teleports back to the tower, and when he finds himself in his bedroom he only makes it two steps before his knees buckle, and he sinks to the floor.

"...call Sir?" JARVIS's voice breaks through the haze descending on Sam's mind, and Sam shakes his head urgently.

"Don't call Tony," Sam says, his voice breaking. "Don't call Tony. I'm fine." Sam doubts he sounds very convincing, but JARVIS is programmed to follow orders and falls silent without protest. Sam fights his way to his feet, metal knee creaking quietly as Sam stands only to collapse onto his bed.

There's only one thing that would make Sam's abandon him like that—that suddenly, that  _coldly_.

And that's if the body lying on the ground was put there by Sam.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Sam honestly forgot that it was a Friday.

In his defense, he's never paid much attention to the passage of time—not since he left Stanford and the day of the week, month, or year became irrelevant. Sam and Dean's lack of a schedule meant that the days tended to blend, to the point that—excluding significant turning points in his life—Sam honestly couldn't say during what year most of his less memorable cases even happened.

Of course, ever since he started living at Avengers Tower, Sam has begun to follow more of a schedule, but it's never been  _his_ schedule. Sam's day-to-day life hasn't changed. It's the lives of those around him that follow a schedule.

For instance, every Friday afternoon at 4:30 like clockwork, a 17-year-old boy named Peter Parker arrives at Avengers Tower to work with Tony in his lab and eat dinner. Then, Peter accompanies Tony to the upstate Avengers Compound for the weekend. When they return to NYC at around noon on Sunday, Tony drops Peter off at his house before coming back to the tower. It's a schedule, one that the unlikely pair follows closely and one that Sam follows in his own way—by avoiding the duo while they're in the tower.

Peter most likely knows that Sam is staying with Tony—Tony's decision to house a recently-exonerated amputee was both widely publicized and widely criticized, after all, and Peter can't be stupid if he's working with Tony and the Avengers—but Sam figures that it's in both of their best interests for them not to meet. And not just because Sam can tell that Tony is protective of Peter, in a surprisingly fatherly way. Sam may have earned Tony's trust even before he gained his freedom, but that doesn't mean that Sam earned the right to be a part of Tony's life. Whatever Peter is to Tony, Sam knows he should stay out of it.

As of yet, that's been relatively easy. Peter has been stopping by weekly since school got back into session after the spring break—a break Peter and Tony both spent at the Avengers Compound, assisting with the final steps of moving the rest of the Avengers in—and Sam has managed to successfully avoid him every time.

He should have known that it wouldn't last forever.

Sam had known today would be a bad day from the second he woke up in a cold sweat, heart hammering in his chest as dark memories—and visions—chased each other around his mind. Desperate for some semblance of control, Sam had elected to spend most of the day in the gym, testing out some of Tony's new training simulations—recently updated to include wendigos after a somewhat disastrous and highly entertaining Avengers mission—before Tony took them upstate over the weekend.

Now, after almost eight hours of training—with a small break for lunch—Sam is still in the gym, helping JARVIS work out the kinks in Tony's simulation of a fight with an angel.

Sam didn't broach the subject of Heaven's warriors at first, determined to keep at least some of his life under wraps. But the Avengers had picked up on Sam's brief mention of angels in his original lecture on the supernatural, and over the past few months, Steve and Tony, in particular, have been badgering Sam about supernatural creatures of all types—both their origins and how to protect against them. The angel talk was barebones, but Sam helped Tony make the fighting simulation at Tony's insistence. It's actually helped assuage his worries somewhat—fighting a computer-generated angel will never be quite the same as the real thing, but Sam takes comfort in the fact that, should the Avengers be forced to fight an angel, they'll at least know what to expect. It's the least Sam can do for the Avengers—if one of them were hurt by a monster Sam knows how to fight, he'd never forgive himself.

Lately, Sam has been spending a lot of time in the gym, determined to make every supernatural simulation as perfect as possible.

"No, the motion is more fluid," Sam says when the holographic figure before him—rather than using the standard human models Sam suggested, Tony elected to base his simulation angels on movies; at the moment, Sam is working with a figure that looks vaguely like Clarence from It's A Wonderful Life, much to his amusement—parries Sam's attack somewhat awkwardly. "These guys were quite literally born to fight, and they've been refining their techniques since before this planet had a moon." It's a bit of an exaggeration, but Sam figures JARVIS will understand the hyperbole. "There's no stunted movement with them."

"Of course, young sir," JARVIS says, and Sam bites back a scowl. As soon as Sam became a permanent resident of the tower, JARVIS started calling him 'sir'—although whether that was a conscious decision on JARVIS's part or some kind of prank of Tony's, Sam still isn't sure—something that, after five months of trying, Sam has yet to convince JARVIS to change, much to his chagrin. While Tony may like the moniker, Sam certainly does not. "Rerunning attack combo number 7."

The angel vanishes and reappears on the opposite side of the simulation area, drawing an angel blade. Sam doesn't move, tracking the translucent orange figure as it approaches him. When Sam makes no move to attack, the angel cocks his head to one side in a very Cas-like manner, then disappears again. Sam immediately ducks, watching as the angel blade sails over his head, cutting smoothly through the air. Sam straightens, throwing out a punch, and the angel performs the same block as before—this time without hesitation.

"Perfect," Sam says, pausing the simulation with a wave of his hand and examining the frozen angel's form. "Put a little more weight on his back leg," Sam comments with a frown. "He looks like he's about to fall over." The adjustment is made almost instantaneously, and Sam looks over a couple more details before declaring the simulation a success.

"I'll send your edits to Sir so he can implement them at the compound," JARVIS says as Sam heads for the bench where he left his water bottle earlier.

"Hey, J, what time is it?" Sam asks, glancing at one of the windows and discovering that the sun is sitting significantly lower in the sky than he expected.

"It is now 4:45 pm," JARVIS says, and Sam curses internally. He hadn't meant to spend so long working on the angel simulation—he originally ran the program intending to complete it—but he had encountered one mistake after another until two hours had passed. None of the bugs in the program were major, of course—Sam found the more significant issues long before Tony uploaded the sim to the upstate base in the first place—but in Sam's line of work, even a minor mistake in practice can mean the difference between success and failure.

Still, two hours is a long time to work on one training program, and Sam was already tired when he started thanks to his lack of sleep last night.

"I think I'm done for the day, JARVIS," Sam says, picking up his water bottle and heading for the elevator. "Take me to the communal floor?" Sam asks once he's stepped inside.

"Right away, young sir."

The elevator doors close and the elevator rockets upward, heading for the lounge. As soon as the doors open, Sam heads for the kitchen. He deposits his water bottle next to the sink and opens the fridge, pulling out a Gatorade and twisting off the cap. Sam swipes an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter as he tosses the cap from the Gatorade in the trash, taking a sip. Sam takes a bite out the apple as he turns around—and freezes when he finds himself face to face with a strikingly familiar teenage boy.

"Oh, uh, hi," Sam says awkwardly, cursing internally. He forgot that today was Friday, totally forgot that Peter was here—and although he's never actually met the teen before, there's no doubt in Sam's mind that this is Peter. Sam isn't sure where Tony is—by now, Sam would have expected Peter to already be in Tony's lab with him—but he figures that Tony probably won't be happy to find Sam and his protege in the communal lounge together.

"Hi," Peter replies, and he sounds just about as embarrassed as Sam feels. "I'm Peter."

"So I've heard," Sam replies, taking another swig of his Gatorade before setting it down on the counter and offering a hand. If he's going to be forced into a run-in with Peter, Sam might as well make a good impression. "Sam." Peter, to Sam's surprise, doesn't hesitate to return the handshake, shaking Sam's hand vigorously with a surprising amount of strength. "So, where's Tony?" Sam asks casually, taking another bite out of his apple.

"Happy said that Mr. Stark was in a meeting that ran late," Peter explains. "I'm supposed to wait here until he's done." Sam nods, moving out from behind the counter and heading for the couch. He makes it about halfway before he feels Peter's eyes on him and turns, unsurprised by the stare he's receiving. Peter isn't, however, looking at Sam's face but his legs, and when Sam looks down, he realizes why. Sam spent most of the day in the gym, so he decided to wear shorts—which means that his prosthetic leg is in full view.

Mentally preparing himself for an onslaught of uncomfortable questions about Lebanon and Dean, Sam is caught off-guard when the one questions Peter does ask has nothing to do with either topic.

"How does it work?" Peter asks, eyes wide with curiosity rather than fear. Sam gets why Tony took a liking to this kid now—Peter is only the second person to treat Sam's metal leg as a scientific curiosity rather than something to either fear or pity. Tony was the first.

"You'd have to ask Tony about that one," Sam says with a smile. "He designed it."

"Is it connected to your nerves? Do you bend the knee joint with your mind or with pressure or gravity or something else? Is it permanent?" The questions spill from Peter's mouth in a wave, unbridled curiosity let loose all at once. Upon realizes what he's done, Peter snaps his mouth shut, blushing. Sam smiles—he can't be mad at Peter's word-spewing when he's been known to do the same thing—and starts trying to formulate answers to Peter's questions.

"The leg isn't directly connected to my nerves, but Tony did put some kind of electrical reader into it," Sam says. "Like I said, I'm not really familiar with everything that went into this thing." Sam lifts his leg, extending it. "I guess I use my mind to bend it, but I'm not really sure. I can't say I've ever really thought about that before." Sam is going to have to repeat Peter's questions to Tony at some point. "And no, it isn't permanent." Peter nods, and Sam can see the wheels turning in Peter's mind as he processes the information Sam gave him and comes up with new questions. When Peter opens his mouth again, Sam expects another round of science-based questions.

So once again, Peter's next question catches Sam entirely off-guard.

"Does it hurt?" Peter asks quietly, sounding reasonably less enthusiastic than he did moments ago.

"Not really," Sam admits. "Most of the nerves in what's left of my leg were destroyed, so I can't feel much of anything even in the part of the leg I still have. The upside is a lack of phantom pains. The downside is-"

"It makes it harder to control." Peter finishes Sam's thought, and Sam nods, looking down at his prosthetic.

"According to the first doctor I saw after I lost my leg, the fact that I can't feel anything is a blessing in disguise," Sam admits. "If I could feel pain in my right leg, it would probably still be excruciating, even now, a year and a half down the line. So apparently, I got lucky." Sam sits down on the arm of the couch and shrugs, tossing his apple in the air and catching it. "Can't say I feel very lucky."

"I'm sorry," Peter says, sounding genuinely remorseful.

"Wasn'tyour fault, kid," Sam says, grinning when Peter wrinkles his nose at the term. "Hey, you're obviously interested in my leg. Do you want to help me out with it?" Sam asks, earning a surprised—and excited—look from Peter.

"What do you mean?" Peter asks.

"This guy is starting to get a bit outdated," Sam explains. "Sometimes the knee joint sticks, and I've nearly faceplanted a couple of times because of it. Tony keeps saying he'll take a look, but something else always comes up." While the statement isn't entirely true—the knee joint of Sam's prosthetic does stick sometimes, but Sam has yet to approach Tony about it—the sentiment is. Sam knows that Peter is just as much of a mechanical genius as his mentor, and Sam is always willing to take a second opinion, especially on things like his prosthetic that are way out of his realm of expertise.

Besides, Sam has seen Peter's work before. Several recent upgrades to Tony's suit can be attributed to Peter, as can a few minor updates to one of the training simulations—a pretty complicated fight on top of a moving plane that incorporates both wind velocity and air pressure. And, of course, there are the web shooters.

No one has explicitly told Sam that Peter Parker is Spider-Man—not that Sam has ever asked—but Sam, while far from Natasha's level of expertise, is a pretty good profiler, and Peter is a pretty obvious kid. Sam has yet to cross paths with Spider-Man in the field—since Darkside tends to stay in Manhattan and Spider-Man sticks mostly to Queens, that's not a surprise—but he knows that the red and blue vigilante has accompanied the Avengers on several small missions in the past. Sam also knows that Peter's arrangement with Tony isn't a coincidence—Peter has visited the Avengers Compound more times than Sam has, after all—and Peter's weekends are probably spent training with the Avengers who call the compound home and anyone else who happens to be in town.

And, of course, there's also the small detail that Peter is currently wearing the web shooters under his jacket right now.

"So, will you take a look?" Sam asks, and Peter nods enthusiastically, stepping closer to examine Sam's leg in more detail.

"That's so cool!" Peter exclaims, grinning like mad. "Is it built like Mr. Barnes's arm? Well, that's permanent, but still. This looks like kind of the same idea. Oh! Have you ever considered adding a vibranium coating to the-"

"Sam, what did I tell you about corrupting my kid?" Tony effectively cuts off Peter's ramble as he walks into the room, running a hand through his hair. Sam bites the inside of his cheek and Peter flushes, taking a step away from Sam. "Peter is so easily impressionable, and here you are, giving him  _ideas_. And you,"—Tony turns, fixing Peter with a stern glare—"what did I tell you about sciencing without me?"

"Don't?" Peter says awkwardly, and Tony breaks into a grin.

"Exactly." Tony says, turning back to Sam. "I was wondering how long you were going to avoid us." Sam rubs the back of his neck, smiling weakly. "So, Peter, I'm guessing Sasquatch here wants you to take a look at that faulty knee joint?" The question is innocent enough, but Sam knows that he never mentioned the issue to Tony, which can mean one of two things. Either Tony has been paying more attention to Sam than Sam thought, or Tony heard quite a bit of Peter and Sam's conversation, likely via JARVIS.

"Can I?" Peter asks excitedly, and Tony's smile widens.

"Of course," he says, earning a huge grin from Peter, "but not today." Peter frowns, glancing at Sam, who shrugs. Tony pulls out his phone, making a few gestures and bringing up what appears to be a calendar. "Looks like you're clear next Tuesday, kid, is that right?"

"We don't have school Monday or Tuesday, so there's no decathlon," Peter says, confused.

"Perfect," Tony says. "Working on Sam's leg will take more time than we have tonight, so you can come over Tuesday, and we'll work on it then. JARVIS, put that down. Let's say... 11 am, and we can all have lunch first." The calendar on Tony's phone updates to show the new event and he nods to himself, slipping his StarkPhone back into his pocket. "For now, Peter, let's go work on our other project. Sam, can we expect you at dinner?" Tony sends Sam a look that strongly suggests he should say yes, but Sam shakes his head. He does actually have a bit of his own schedule to follow.

"I've got to meet with Matt and Foggy tonight," Sam explains, and Tony nods understandably.

After Sam was found not guilty in the deaths in Lebanon, the courts and the FBI had to decide whether or not to charge him with the rest of the various crimes on his rap sheet. Tony was able to dig up evidence in Sam's favor in quite a few of the cases, but the rest—the ones involving crimes like credit card fraud and grave desecration that Sam did actually commit—quickly became an issue. Luckily, Matt and Foggy were able to work out a compromise with the courts. If Sam lives for at least a year with someone who can keep an eye on him—hence his residence at Avengers Tower—and meets with an FBI agent once a month during that time, there will be no further trials. Matt decided that the day of the meeting would be the 10th of the month and also agreed that Sam would only attend the meetings if his lawyers accompanied him. At first, the encounters were incredibly awkward, but now, five months in, Sam has become familiar with the FBI agent assigned to him, and the stiff park-bench meetings have been moved to various restaurants in the area.

"Well, another time, then," Tony says, offering Sam a look that Sam interprets to mean that their conversation about Sam not mentioning the damaged knee joint is not even remotely over. The slight warning—and also, Sam is surprised to see, the ever-present worry—in Tony's eyes melts away when Tony turns his gaze to Peter, who looks confused by Tony and Sam's exchange.

"Who's Matt and Foggy?" Peter asks as Tony puts one hand on his shoulder, steering them both toward the door.

"My lawyers," Sam explains. "Also good friends of mine."

"Oh," Peter says, a slight frown on his face.

"Let's get down to the lab and work on some things, okay, kiddo?" Tony says softly, clearly sensing something in Peter's voice that Sam doesn't. "We'll see Sam on Tuesday." Tony pats Peter's shoulder lightly, then turns back to Sam. "See you on Sunday, Sasquatch. Hold down the fort while I'm gone."

"Bye, Tony," Sam says with a hesitant smile, watching as Tony walks back to the elevator with Peter in tow. The doors open as soon as the pair arrives and Tony steps inside, disappearing behind one of the wall panels. Peter, however, hesitates, looking back at Sam with a nervous smile on his face—his gaze, Sam can't help but notice, is locked on Sam's face with an intensity that suggests that Peter is consciously avoiding looking at anything else.

"Goodbye, Mr. Winchester," Peter says politely, disappearing into the elevator without another word. JARVIS quickly closes the doors on Tony and Peter, and it's a good thing he does because only a moment later Sam's left knee buckles beneath him, sending him crashing to the floor.

Since Lebanon, Sam's last name has joined ranks with the worst of the worst, tainted by the bombing, Dean's sentencing, and Sam's trial. Within Avengers Tower, the name has developed a reputation akin to Voldemort—saying the poisoned name around Sam will get you punched at best and send him into a full-blown panic at worst. The majority of the employees at Avengers Tower likely believe that Sam's negative reaction to his name stems from the bombing and the trials that followed it, and they're mostly right—it's just the less literally trials that caused it. Sam's memories of Asmodeus and the demons are still foggy and scattered, but the few that he can recall on command—broken flashes that they are—almost always include whispers of that name in his ear that send shivers down his spine. Bruce called it PTSD, called it a trigger, called it something that couldn't be helped and couldn't be fixed, at least in the immediate future. Sam calls it another broken piece of a mind that has already been shattered like glass.

Sam sometimes wonders how many more hits it will take before the fragile pieces of his psyche are reduced to sand.

"Are you alright, young sir?" JARVIS asks, and Sam almost detects a hint of concern in the AI's flat tone. "Should I call Sir?"

"No, don't bother Tony," Sam says, ignoring the raspiness of his voice as he pulls himself to his feet and runs a hand through his hair. "I'm fine. Just wasn't expecting that is all." Sam looks down at his hand, realizing apprehensively that he crushed the apple in his grip when he fell. That's the main issue with the negative thoughts that surround Sam's name—with abilities that are tied directly to his emotions, any instance of sudden panic can have dangerous consequences.

"Of course, young sir," JARVIS says as Sam finds his balance and walks over to the kitchen, tossing the apple into the trash. Sam knows that JARVIS can't feel emotions and certainly can't speak with them, but sometimes Sam swears he can hear the tone in the AI's words—now, for instance, JARVIS sounds hesitant and begrudgingly compliant. "Your meeting with Mr. Murdock and Mr. Nelson is in one hour. You should begin to prepare."

"Got it, J," Sam says, smiling gratefully at the speaker above the kitchen counter—the very one that Matt identified the first time Sam came to the tower as Darkside. Sam knows, of course, that JARVIS's cameras are located elsewhere in the room, but he can't help but look at that speaker. A lot has changed since that first visit to Avengers Tower, but the steady presence of JARVIS is a nice reminder that a lot has also stayed the same. "Thanks," Sam adds as he heads for the elevator, which opens automatically.

"Of course, young sir," JARVIS says—this time, Sam is pretty sure that the AI sounds proud.

Something tells Sam that his nickname did come from JARVIS. Sam will have to thank Tony again for introducing him to the AI. Sam honestly doesn't know what he'd do without him.

Without either of them.


	3. Chapter 3

It takes Sam about an hour to get ready after Tony and Peter leave—and most of that time is spent trying to figure out how to get where he needs to go.

Tonight's meeting is set to take place at the coffee shop that Sam used to frequent in the warehouse district, chosen by Sam last month after he grew tired of the stares he received everywhere he went on the busier side of Manhattan island. The coffee shop is small, Sam remembers, and quaint, and the people who frequent it are all willing to mind their own business and turn a blind eye to the killer in their midst.

The coffee shop is also a fair distance from Avengers Tower, and after hours of working out, Sam doesn't think he has enough energy on reserve to teleport there without side effects.

After debating for a while, Sam ends up using his phone to call an Uber—or, as Tony referred to the service when he first downloaded the app to Sam's phone, a personal chauffeur for people who can't afford a personal chauffeur. Sam has to try three times before he gets a driver who doesn't cancel the ride immediately, and even then the trip is spent in awkward, tense silence.

Sam may have been exonerated of Lebanon, but that doesn't mean he doesn't set people on edge.

After he exits the car and sends the driver off with a wave, Sam walks into the coffee shop and pauses, smiling a bit when the familiar smells hit him full force. It's been a while since Sam was last here—between the trial and the media frenzy that followed, Sam hasn't actually stepped foot in this building in months—but as soon as he finds himself inside it's like Sam never left. When Matt and Foggy told Sam to pick where to have their monthly meeting this May, Sam knew instantly where to go.

This is one of the first places in Manhattan that made Sam feel truly safe.

When Sam approaches the counter, Katy is turned away, fixing a drink for another customer. The customer eyes Sam curiously, growing ever so slightly tense, and Sam pauses, realizing for the first time that maybe this wasn't the best idea.

Katy has always been kind to Sam, slipping him extra food when he didn't have enough money to pay and indulging him in his need for conversation those lonely first few months in Manhattan. But now, Sam is coming as himself—Sam Winchester, post-trial—for the first time. It's such a minor thing to worry about, a kind barista hating Sam for his past, but Sam finds himself hesitating nonetheless.

Katy and her coffee shop were small comforts during a time when Sam had very little comfort at all, and much like the rusty crutch he carried with him during those first few months, they're something he clung to—things that were his, things that were important to him. Connections, however weak, to a life he had lost but refused to completely forget.

Katy turns around, passes the coffee to the waiting customer, and then looks directly at Sam. Sam almost turns tail and runs, disappears back into the street, terrified of rejection, of fear in the eyes of someone who always greeted him with a warm smile and a ready ear.

And then Katy smiles, beckoning Sam forward as she reaches beneath the counter, pulling out a paper bag and holding it out.

"Your usual, Sam," Katy says, turning around to fix a drink without another word. A moment later, Katy turns back and offers Sam a coffee with milk and two sugars. "I'm glad you're back."

"I'm sorry," Sam says unthinkingly, taking the coffee hesitantly. "For coming here, I mean. I could have put you in danger."

"You didn't," Katy says, smiling brightly. "If anything, you made my days more exciting. Of all the coffee shops in New York, Sam Winchester decides to frequent the one where I work, while he's on the run no less." Katy pauses, then looks up at Sam and shakes her head. "It's a hell of a story, but not one I ever thought I'd be able to tell." Sam smiles, then, realizing that when Katy spoke his name, he didn't so much as flinch. There was no venom in her tone, no malice, no anger or grief. Only acceptance, and a touch of love. Sam thinks that there should be more people in the world like Katy.

"Thank you," Sam says, picking up the bag that he's almost certain contains two fresh croissants. "For the food, for the warmth, and for your discretion."

"I knew you didn't kill those people," Katy says firmly. "I wasn't going to turn in an innocent man."

"Hey, Sam, over here!" Sam hears Foggy shout his name and turns to see both of his lawyers sitting at Sam's usual table. Both men have half-empty coffees on the table in front of them, and there's a laptop open in front of Foggy. Sam sends Katy another smile and sets down his coffee to dig a fifty dollar bill out of his pocket, which he drops on the counter.

"For today, and for some of the last year," Sam says, picking up his coffee and heading to the table where Foggy and Matt are waiting. Sam sits down across from his lawyers and opens the paper bag, pulling out one of the croissants—as he had guessed, there are two—and taking a bite before placing it on a napkin. Sam then takes a sip of his coffee and turns his attention to Foggy, who is now staring intently at his computer screen. "What's up?" Sam asks after a minute, and Foggy looks up, taking a swig of coffee and grinning.

"This place is awesome, that's what's up," Foggy says enthusiastically. "Leave it to you to find the best coffee in Manhattan while on the run from the police."

"I try," Sam replies, smiling despite himself. The door to the coffee shop opens again, and Sam looks over his shoulder, watching as a familiar woman strides into the building, her gaze sweeping the room with authority and stopping when it lands on Sam. The woman bypasses the counter and heads right for Sam, Matt, and Foggy, grabbing the empty chair at Sam's right and swinging it around the square table so that she can face all three men at once.

"Gentlemen." She says, and Sam smiles.

"Agent Ramirez." He replies, his greeting echoed by the lawyers.

Anya Ramirez was far from Sam's biggest fan the first time they met in January. Ramirez is a field agent from the local FBI office, far from a newbie but assigned nonetheless to a role that basically amounts to being a glorified parole officer. Sam can't blame her for her initial irritation.

But by now, after four meetings, Ramirez has grown more comfortable with Sam—and he's grown more comfortable with her.

"How was court last week? I hear you had an incident at lunch." Ramirez says tucking a strand of straight black hair behind her ear and leaning back in her seat.

"Just because the courts found me not guilty doesn't mean that everyone believes it," Sam says, shrugging as nonchalantly as he can—he's been acting like the encounter was nothing, but in reality, he hasn't been able to stop thinking about it. Sam knows that Lebanon wasn't his fault, but he can't help but wonder what would have happened if he and Dean had chosen any other city to settle down in. "I've had guns pointed at my chest before." Sam continues. "I'm just glad Steve and Natasha were there to help."

"Still, it couldn't have been fun," Ramirez says, a note of sympathy in her tone. "No one likes being threatened for something out of their control."

Another thing about Ramirez that has changed since January is her beliefs. At that first meeting, it was clear that Agent Ramirez thought that Sam was guilty of the Lebanon bombing—or at the very least, of the rest of the charges of which he was acquitted. But Sam seems to have grown on her, and the words they've exchanged at their monthly meetings have apparently changed Ramirez's mind on the subject.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Sam comments, shaking his head. "No more court appearances for me, though." He adds, and Ramirez nods.

"Probably for the best." She agrees. "How about the move? Avengers Tower must be pretty lonely these days."

"I keep busy," Sam says. "Tony has an impressive gym, so I work out a lot." Ramirez nods, pulling her phone out of the pocket of her FBI jacket and turning it on.

"Alright, on to business," Ramirez says. "Have you left the city of New York since we last met?"

"No," Sam says—he declined Tony's offer to help the Avengers move upstate, and although he's been keeping an eye out for hunts in the cities within a reasonable distance, Sam has yet to come across any outside of the bounds of New York City.

"Have you handled any weapons, such as guns or knives, in the past month?"

"No."

That one is actually a lie—Sam has been practicing with the demon knife in the gym and has started to carry it while patrolling as Darkside, although he has yet to use the knife in combat outside of Avengers Tower. But the demon knife is the only weapon that Sam has touched—he long ago lost any other weapons he was given by Claire Novak, and Jody and her daughters haven't supplied Sam with more, not that he's ever asked.

"Have you used any drugs or alcohol?"

"No," Sam says, thinking back to the last time all of the Avengers were gathered at the tower—it was a few days after Sam's previous parole meeting in April, and there was beer and wine on offer for everyone to celebrate the completion of the move to the Avengers Compound. Sam honestly can't remember if he had anything to drink that night, but even if he did, he wouldn't say so to Ramirez. As much as Ramirez has grown to like Sam, she isn't going to give him a free pass for violating the terms of his agreement with the FBI.

"Alright, have you found a job?" Ramirez questions next and Sam shakes his head, biting the inside of his cheek. That requirement was one that he wasn't expecting, an addendum that Matt and Foggy unsuccessfully argued against. The FBI is being relatively lenient with that particular checkbox, which is good because Sam doubts that he'll be finding a job anytime soon.

"No one wants to hire me," Sam says, shaking his head. "I may have been exonerated, but it doesn't make anyone trust me. Plus, I have no experience, no credibility, and no degree."

"Keep looking for a position," Ramirez says, putting her phone away and smiling sympathetically. "If all else fails, maybe you can find something to do at Avengers Tower. I'm sure Tony Stark has some money to spare." Sam pauses at that, smiling a bit despite himself—Tony has been offering to compensate Sam for his work on the simulations for months now, but Sam has always declined. Sam figured that his occasional help on fighting sims was his way of paying rent, something he and Tony are still arguing over. In fact, the $50 bill Sam gave to Katy earlier was a direct result of that argument—Tony tried to give it to Sam a week or so ago as payment for Sam's help on the Wendigo simulation. Sam initially refused, but the money found its way into the pocket of Sam's jeans nonetheless.

Tony doesn't want Sam to worry about his extended stay at Avengers Tower, repeatedly claiming that Sam has far and beyond earned his keep. Sam is still convinced that he doesn't deserve the luxury that the tower affords him.

Getting an official job title working for Tony—or even for Stark Industries—is a middle ground that Sam might just consider.

"Well, that's all I've got." Ramirez stands, grinning. Sam, Foggy, and Matt are quick to climb to their feet as well, returning the smile. "Keep out of trouble, Sam. We've got seven meetings left until you're home free. No point in breaking the rules this far in." Sam nods, and Ramirez leaves the coffee shop without another word. While Foggy cleans up his and Matt's trash, Sam grabs his second croissant, walking over to the bulletin board in the corner of the shop and skimming the posters. It's the usual mix of online classes, club meetings, and advertisements, but one sign immediately catches Sam's eye.

It's yellow, almost entirely hidden beneath the rest of the papers, which means that it's been here for a while. What draws Sam's attention is a small anti-possession symbol on the corner, poking out from beneath the mass of ads and high school sports teams. Sam carefully moves the posters covering the yellow paper out of the way, and his eyes widen when he sees what's hidden beneath.

It's not an advertisement. It's a threat, spelled out in big block letters.

**TIME IS RUNNING OUT, SAM  
WE'RE COMING FOR YOU**

All four corners of the paper have anti-possession symbols on them, which suggests to Sam that this threat is coming from hunters—most likely, the faction that all but declared war on Sam after the incident at the hunters' dive in Madison last year. Convinced that Sam is a demon, Bruce Marshall is leading a group that is determined to get to Sam in Manhattan and exorcize him. So far, they haven't made their attack—Sam figures his residence at Avengers Tower, and the media attention on him has deterred the hunters—but Sam has been receiving updates from Jody on the group's progress.

Sam is honestly just glad that none of the hunters in Marshall's group have access to angel blades or demon knives—if they genuinely believe that Sam is a demon, they won't bother to shoot him, but being stabbed is still a particularly dangerous risk.

"That's been there for months now," Katy says, and Sam turns to see Katy standing at his right, shaking her head. "I kept taking it down, but it always popped up again after a few days. I figured I'd just let other posters cover it up. I don't even know who's leaving it."

"It's alright," Sam says. "I get a lot of threats. I don't tend to take them too seriously." This is a threat Sam knows he should be worried about, but he's not concerned about his own safety so much as Katy's—if Marshall and his posse know that Sam frequents this coffee shop, Katy could be caught in the crossfire. Katy nods hesitantly, far too smart to believe Sam's reassurances, but she's forced to head back to the counter when another customer walks through the door. Sam spends another minute or so studying the message, then he shakes his head and heads for the door.

He'll have to call Jody when he gets back to the tower, to tell her about the message and ask her to keep an eye on Katy and the coffee shop. But all in all, Sam isn't too concerned. The past few months have been relatively uneventful. No big bad has reared his head, whether supernatural or human. Crime in New York is at an all-time low, while support for the local vigilantes is at an all-time high.

Plus, if Marshall and his gang really want to kill Sam, they're going to have to fight through a sea of Avengers, Defenders, and other hunters to do it.

By the time Sam leaves the coffee shop and meets Matt and Foggy on the sidewalk, the sun has begun to set, casting long shadows on the street. The shadows themselves have taken on a peculiar quality, Sam finds himself thinking as he, Matt, and Foggy head into the heart of the city—Matt and Foggy will peel off at their apartment and Sam will continue on to Avengers Tower. The sun is setting fast enough that the shadows seem to be expanding, multiplying and wavering, shifting, dancing.

It almost looks like they're alive.

Sam shakes his head, smirking to himself and waving to Matt and Foggy as he continues down the street alone—Manhattan is a busy city even late at night, but Sam has always had a knack for finding the quietest sidewalks.

There's a lot for Sam to worry about, between his visions, the hunters' threats, and his monthly parole meetings. But Sam has had more on his plate before. And for once, none of Sam's problems appear to be immediately worrying.

For once, Sam might just be able to relax.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam catches a split second of movement, but when he turns his head, there's nothing there. Sam could swear that the shadows look too dark, too potent, and a few months ago he might have become absorbed in those worries. Today, Sam shakes his head, ignoring the anxieties building in his mind and continuing his walk to the tower.

He's just paranoid, because of the threat. That's all.

The feeling of something watching Sam from the shadows doesn't fade until the doors of Avengers Tower close behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note: the Second Chances series takes place in a universe where the events of Infinity War never happened, and as such, there will be NO Endgame spoilers.
> 
> As I personally have not yet seen Endgame at the time of posting, please don't post any spoilers in the comments! #ThanosDemandsYourSilence
> 
> Thanks!
> 
> Emily

_The body lying on the ground is pale, limbs splayed unnaturally, light blue t-shirt soaked with blood. The body is still, and Sam knows it must be cold as well, although he can't touch it._

_Hands are holding Sam back, strong and unyielding and as dark as night, made out of the shadows that Sam often hides in. The hands aren't moving, but neither is the rest of the world—rather than a scene Sam is trapped in a snapshot, a still image, forced to stare into a frozen sliver of the carnage he can only imagine that he created._

_The hands never move, never release Sam, but a sharp pain in Sam's stomach causes him to look down, down at the bloodstain rapidly growing on his shirt. The world darkens dramatically as if blackout curtains were closed before Sam's eyes, blocking the sun, the souls, the life. Just before he succumbs to the darkness, Sam catches a glimpse of Bucky, his mouth set in a straight line._

When Sam wakes suddenly, an incessant beeping sound accompanies his rise to consciousness, a shrill metronome in time with Sam's racing heart. It takes Sam a minute to realize that the sound isn't an alarm but an alarm clock—since Sam rarely sets a schedule, he seldom uses an alarm—that's being projected through JARVIS's speakers.

"I'm up, I'm up," Sam says, sitting up and rubbing his eyes as he speaks. The alarm cuts off abruptly, and the sudden absence of sound makes Sam's ears ring.

"Sir would like to remind you that you have lunch with Mr. Parker today," JARVIS says.

"Yeah, at 11, right?" Sam asks. "What time is it now?"

"You are correct, young sir," JARVIS says. "It is currently 10:18 am." Sam nods to himself, grabbing his prosthetic leg and pulling it on backward, then twisting it into place. After swinging his leg experimentally a few times, Sam stands, walking over to his dresser and grabbing a pair of shorts—he's probably going to be taking his prosthetic on and off a lot today, so there's no point in wearing jeans.

"JARVIS, intercom with Tony," Sam says. Once Sam's residence at Avengers Tower became semi-permanent, Tony gave Sam a crash course on what all JARVIS can do—including acting as an intercom between rooms. As it turns out, there's not much that JARVIS  _can't_ do.

"What's up, Sasquatch?" Tony asks through the room's speakers as Sam pulls on his shirt and walks over to his nightstand.

"What exactly is the plan for today?" Sam asks as he opens the drawer and pulls out the demon knife. "I know that Peter is coming at 11, but how long will he be here?" Sam turns the demon knife over in his hands a few times, then shakes his head and returns the knife to the drawer. Sam is staying in Avengers Tower today. He doesn't need the extra protection, especially against a teenage boy.

"Until your leg is fixed, I guess," Tony says, and even though they're in different rooms, Sam can picture the frown that forms on Tony's face. "Why are you avoiding Peter, Sam?" Sam hesitates, biting the inside of his cheek.

He can't explain it, not to Tony.

Can't explain that the last time Sam met a 17-year-old kid with a bright future ahead of him, Sam ripped his life away and left him dead on the floor of the bunker with his eyes burned out of his head. Can't explain that every single pure, innocent person that Sam has ever met has ended up dead. Can't explain that most of them died bloody, painfully.

Can't explain that when he met Peter for the first time on Friday, the kid looked familiar for reasons Sam doesn't know, and Sam is terrified.

Terrified that something is going to happen to Peter, and Sam is going to have something to do with it.

"I've got a bad past, Tony," Sam says after a minute, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair as he walks out of his bedroom. "One that would make any sane kid terrified of me." Sam continues, figuring that JARVIS will continue to project his voice to Tony. "And their parents."

"Peter isn't scared of you, Sam," Tony says, a touch of sympathy in his tone—or maybe empathy is a more accurate word. "That kid has nerves of steel. There isn't much that he  _is_ scared of." Sam huffs out a quiet laugh at this, shaking his head again and stepping into the elevator. "And besides, anyone scared of you doesn't know the real you. There's nothing to be scared of."

"Not six feet and four inches of exonerated terrorist with a metal leg and a good amount of unexplained scars?" Sam questions rhetorically.

"Nothing, Sam," Tony says, emphasizing the word vehemently. " _Nothing_." After a brief pause, the elevator doors open and Sam steps into the communal lounge, where he finds Tony waiting in the kitchen. Tony is in the middle of pulling something out of the oven, and when he straightens and turns around, Sam is surprised to see a red and white striped bucket in Tony's hands.

"Kentucky Fried Chicken?" Sam asks in disbelief, and Tony shrugs, setting the bucket down on the counter.

"Peter's a fan," Tony says. "He also hates it when I spend money on him. Much like you, actually." Tony raises an eyebrow, and Sam shakes his head, grabbing the bucket of chicken and carrying it over to the table.

"Sir, Mr. Parker has arrived in the lobby," JARVIS says.

"Send him up here," Tony replies, turning and sending Sam a pointed look. "Peter isn't afraid of you, Sam. And there's absolutely no reason that  _you_ should be afraid of  _him_." Sam nods but remains silent, sitting down at the table.

Sam can't tell Tony why he's so scared, not of Peter but of hurting him. Sam can't tell Tony a lot of things, even now that they've been living together for months. Sam can't tell Tony about the visions he's been having, about the concussion that scrambled his brain, and his visions, and his memories. Sam can't tell Tony about the lapses in memory that he's been suffering recently with alarming regularity—about the instances when he wakes up fully aware that he's had a nightmare or a vision,  but within seconds can't remember what he saw. About the brief moments when he forgets where he is, and why.

About how just this morning Sam woke up with Bucky's grim stare imprinted in his mind, but with the face of the young body who could only have been his victim shrouded in shadows.

Sam can't Tony that while he may be okay right now, he probably isn't going to be for long.

When the elevator doors open and Peter Parker walks into the lounge, Tony holds up the bucket of chicken with a wide grin on his face, and Sam smiles.

Sam can't tell Tony and risk ruining that ease, that happiness.

That love. 

* * *

Lunch is spent mostly in silence. Peter offers brief comments between bites on the blueprints that Tony apparently emailed him, but for the most part, everyone is occupied with eating. Sam nurses a single thigh throughout lunch, but Peter probably devours an entire chicken over an hour and a half. It's a miracle the kid can get a single word out.

After lunch, Tony takes everyone up to his lab, directing Peter to the tools in the far corner of the room and Sam to the table in the center that quickly became his usual seat whenever he has to come up here—Tony has next to no seating in his lab, and what he does have is too low to the ground for Sam to use when testing a prosthetic.

Peter looks almost nervous as he sidles up to Tony with a toolbox in his hands, his fingers curled tightly around the edges. When Peter sets the toolkit down on the table next to Tony, he almost immediately shoves his hands into his pockets, turning his attention to DUM-E and starting up a conversation with the robot that's punctuated by a good amount of uncomfortable laughter.

It isn't until Sam starts to remove his prosthetic that Peter finally addresses him, apparently working up the courage to ask the question that has clearly been on his mind since he arrived for lunch almost two hours ago.

"Do you miss your brother, Mr. Sam?" Peter asks, the hesitancy so evident in his voice that Sam almost winces sympathetically before he registers what exactly Peter said. The question that Peter asked goes in one ear and right out the other as Sam's mind stutters to a stop, his thoughts derailed by the simple title that Peter chose to use to address Sam. Sam's hands follow suit, stiffening around his metal leg as he gapes at Peter.

"Mr. Sam?" Tony asks at the same time that Sam repeats Peter's title of choice, and Peter's face flushes a bright red as he looks down at his feet.

"Sorry," Peter mumbles, clearly embarrassed by Tony and Sam's reactions.

"No, no, it's fine, just... unexpected, is all." Sam hastens to explain his reaction—he wasn't shocked so much as surprised—before Peter has the chance to develop any guilt over it.

"Are you sure?" Peter asks hopefully, looking up suddenly. Peter's eyes meet Sam's, and Sam notes that there's a distinct worry detailed in Peter's expression, a particular kind of anxiety that makes Sam's heart ache. There's an emotion in Peter's eyes that Sam is far too familiar with—desperation borne out of a need to get it right, to be accepted.

"Of course I'm sure," Sam assures, smiling gently. "But, out of curiosity, where'd you come up with that? I haven't been called 'mister' anything in a while." Peter's blush somehow deepens, and Tony chuckles, stepping away from the holographic blueprint of Sam's prosthetic that is floating above the table and turning his full attention to a very red-faced Peter.

"Well, Mr. Stark said that you didn't like being called by your last name because of all the negativity surrounding it," Peter explains, shifting his weight uncomfortably and clasping his hands together behind his back. "But I didn't want to be rude, and it just sorta... came out?"

"Well, I appreciate the gesture, but you can just call me Sam," Sam says, shaking his head. "There's no need for the formality."

"Good luck with that," Tony interjects with a laugh. "I've been trying to get this kid to call me Tony for three years now,  and he still insists on the 'Mr. Stark' thing." Tony smirks, glancing at Peter before returning his attention to Sam and lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "He alternates between 'Mr. America' and 'Mr. Captain' for Cap, and when he's sleep deprived he'll occasionally call Romanoff 'Ms. Widow' and then panic." Peter pokes Tony's shoulder repeatedly and aggressively, a pleading expression on his face. "Oh, and Birdbrain will forever be 'Mr. Hawkeye.'" Tony continues with a grin.

"Stop it!" Peter complains, voice rising into an exaggerated whine. Tony laughs, looking at Peter with love in his eyes that Sam never would have imagined six months ago that he'd see on the face of Tony Stark. It's the kind of love a father has for his son—a real father. The type of father Sam spent a fair amount of his life wishing he had.

Sam no longer hates John Winchester the way that he did at 17. But he can't help but wonder where he would be today if his father had been just a little bit more like Tony Stark.

"Alright, enough of that," Tony says, nodding to Sam. "Let's get that leg of yours and see if we can't figure out why the knee is sticking." Sam pushes up his shorts and pulls off the prosthetic, passing it to Tony. Tony immediately turns and starts tinkering, but Peter's eyes remain on Sam for a little while longer, his attention directed primarily at the web of scars on Sam's upper thigh.

"I never did answer your question," Sam says, drawing Peter's eyes up to his face—and away from the scars. "About my brother, I mean." Peter nods slowly, and although Tony doesn't turn, he does start working a little more slowly, evidence enough that he's also listening.

"Do you miss him?" Peter asks, and Sam nods without hesitation.

"Of course," Sam says. "Every day, I miss him. But it's a lot better now that I actually get to talk to him." Since Christmas, Sam has spoken to Dean almost every day—they'll have a short phone call at night, and a video chat on the weekends. In the past week or so, the calls have gotten a bit more sporadic thanks to the beginning of Bucky's trial, but Sam doesn't mind too much.

For once, his brother isn't the only one he has to talk to, and no matter how long they go without speaking, Sam knows Dean will be waiting for him.

"My lawyers are working on an appeal." Sam continues. "Trying to get Dean a second trial, one that will hopefully get him out of prison."

"What will you do then?" Peter asks curiously. "What will you do when he gets out?" Sam can't help but notice that Peter isn't asking about an  _if_ but a  _when_ —not a hypothetical but an actuality. Sam wonders if Dean's chances are really that good, or if Peter is just the most optimistic teenager in New York.

"I don't know," Sam admits with a frown. "We've always lived a pretty nomadic life, but I don't know if I can go back to that now that I've been living in New York for so long." And Sam can't, of course, return to the bunker **—** the Men of Letters' base was left mostly intact after the bombing, according to Jody, but with the town of Lebanon destroyed, the bunker can no longer reasonably serve as a home.

With all of the baggage Sam carries these days—and the amount associated with that town—he doesn't think he could bear to return, anyway.

"You could buy an apartment or a house here in New York?" Peter suggests eagerly, but Sam is quick to shake his head.

"I was found not guilty of the Lebanon bombing," Sam says. "But that doesn't really mean much. I'm an infamous figurehead right now, and no one is going to want me living anywhere near them. No landlord will sell me a house or an apartment, and even if they would, I couldn't possibly afford it." Sam shakes his head again, biting the inside of his cheek. "For now, I'm living the same way I always have. One day at a time." Peter frowns but nods, opening his mouth to presumably ask another question.

"Hey, kid, I need your hands," Tony says suddenly, and Peter immediately turns, grabbing the tool that Tony holds out and getting to work. Sam can't help but notice that Tony seems significantly tenser than he did a moment ago—and can't help but wonder if Tony's discomfort has anything to do with what Sam said.

Sam has seven months left at Avengers Tower. Tony agreed to live here with Sam until Sam is allowed to leave, at which point he'll sell the tower and move upstate to join the rest of the Avengers. But after that, Sam honestly doesn't know what he'll do. Matt will want Sam to stay at Matt's apartment, but that's not a permanent solution. Tony has already offered Sam a room at the Avengers Compound, but Sam declined—he can't take any more charity from Tony than he already has.

Seven months from now, Sam might just find himself back on the street. He honestly wouldn't mind—or at least, that's what he'll say to Tony, and Steve, and Matt, and Dean, and anyone else who asks. And it wouldn't be a total lie.

Sam wouldn't miss the roof his head, the mattress, the closet, the shower. He wouldn't miss easy access to food, a state-of-the-art gym, a library. What Sam would miss the comfort and security that JARVIS, the safety offered by Tony's presence.

Sam wouldn't mind leaving Avengers Tower behind. What he knows he'll miss is the family that he's managed to build here.

 


	5. Chapter 5

When the sun sinks below the horizon, Sam disappears behind a black mask and yellow eyes, and Darkside takes to the streets.

Sam started his journey in Manhattan lost and afraid, hiding behind a scarf in fear of being dragged back to the hell that he had just escaped. Now,  Sam's mask is no longer a symbol of fear but a symbol of strength, as recognizable—and as comforting—as his piercing yellow gaze to the citizens of Manhattan.

Sam didn't go out last Halloween, but Tony showed him pictures of the trick-or-treaters who came to Avengers Tower. It was the very first time that Sam saw a kid in a black jacket with a scarf tied around their face, and he almost cried.

It still brings tears to Sam's eyes, every time he sees an advertisement online for yellow costume contact lenses or someone wearing a custom black bandanna around their neck.

Darkside started as a mystery, and for the most part, he still is. Like Daredevil, Darkside operates out of the shadows, takes down criminals under cover of darkness and guards his identity closely. It's a fact of life that Darkside is an enigma. But unlike when Sam first donned his mask, there's no mystery about Darkside's morals. Darkside is no longer a vigilante in the traditional sense—no one questions where his loyalties lie. Darkside is the Hero of Manhattan, standing tall and fierce and  _strong_.

He's the person Sam has always wished he could be, striking terror in the hearts of those who deserve it and making Manhattan safer for everyone else.

It took over a year for Sam to become confident in a skin that was never truly his own, in the false name and false eyes of his alter ego. The people of Manhattan accepted Darkside long before Sam did.

But he's here now. All of him. And he isn't planning on leaving anytime soon.

Sam starts his night on the roof of Matt's apartment, surveying the city with his demon sight as he waits for Daredevil to join him. Tony was supposed to be keeping Sam company for most of the night, but the Avengers were called unexpectedly to California to deal with a supervillain they've apparently encountered before—Tony didn't have much time to explain before he blasted off, but Sam is pretty sure he heard the word 'bones'—so Matt is the last minute replacement.

The city is surprisingly silent, surprisingly dark. It's a full moon tonight, but the sky is covered in a thick layer of clouds that breaks every so often, allowing Sam a glimpse of the bright moon. The darkness and the quiet are far too familiar for comfort, the brief instants of moonshine illuminating only small patches of the city, like a streetlight suspended in the sky. The wind whistles and weaves between the skyscrapers, catching strands of Sam's hair and pulling them through the air.

For a brief moment, Sam forgets where he is. The face of Jason Weatherby stares at Sam from the windows of every building around him, red hair and a sinister smirk wherever Sam turns, too close. For a split second, Sam forgets how to breathe.

When he regains his bearings, Weatherby's laugh is ringing in Sam's ears, and Sam teleports away from the jeering sound that haunts him. The voice that calls his name—Sam's name, not Darkside's—is carried away by the wind,  a whisper that never reaches Sam's ears.

Sam finds himself standing on another rooftop, halfway across the island of Manhattan. It's a part of the city that Sam doesn't frequent, too close to Avengers Tower and Jessica Jones's apartment for most of the city's criminal underbelly to risk significant assaults. The memo doesn't seem to have reached everyone, however—Sam has barely finished a cursory scan of his surroundings when he hears a faint grunt coming from behind and below him. Sam crosses the roof in an instant and looks down, watching as a man and a woman fight in the alley below. Sam can barely see them, even with his demon sight, their forms hidden in shadow that seems far too potent for the area—the alleys of Manhattan are often cast in shadow, but the moon is peeking through the clouds almost directly above Sam's head, bathing him and the surrounding blocks in light.

The woman is trapped against the wall, but she's struggling valiantly, using her legs to keep her attacker a good distance away. She's clearly losing steam, however, her kicks weakening with every passing second, and Sam is quick to jump into the alley, fist winding back in preparation to make contact with the back of the man's head.

When Sam swings, his knuckles connect with absolutely nothing—the man's head vanishes, as does the rest of his body and the woman he was attacking. Momentum carries Sam's fist into the wall of the building in front of him and brick chips away, falling to the ground and bouncing off of Sam's boots. Sam curses under his breath and cradles his knuckles, stepping back and searching the alley for any sign of the two individuals he just saw, who vanished right before his eyes.

Sam is often haunted by his past, but he knows in his gut that this wasn't a memory, wasn't a hallucination. This was real, up until the moment that the crime Sam tried to stop disappeared into thin air.

"Darkside." The call is quiet but Sam is just emotional enough—just worried enough, just anxious enough—to hear it, and he remembers all at once that the Judge is gone, that Sam was supposed to be waiting on Matt's rooftop, that a ghost from his past is all that it took to chase him away.

Sam teleports back to Matt's roof, determined to leave the shadows that haunt him behind in a too-dark alley. He doesn't think he succeeds.

The darkness has always clung to Sam, has always dug deep into his skin with claws made of nightmares. Tentacles of shadow are wrapped around his heart that even the brightest souls could never hope to dislodge. All Sam can do is weaponize his darkness, use it for good. All Sam can do is embrace the darkness within.

"Darkside, are you alright?" Daredevil asks from the edge of the roof. He's crouched on the raised barrier, looking out over the city, scanning Manhattan not with his eyes as Sam does but with his ears, head cocked to one side.

"Fine," Sam says shortly, sitting down beside Daredevil, who nods hesitantly.

"We've got fifteen minutes," Matt says, turning around to sit at Sam's side, removing his cowl and running a hand through his dark hair. "You remember the plan?" Sam nods automatically, his mind occupied by the crime that vanished before his eyes a few minutes ago. After a moment, Sam pauses, frowning.

"What plan?" He asks, searching his memory for the plan that Matt is referencing and drawing a blank. Matt sends Sam a concerned look, and Sam bites the inside of his cheek.

"The drug shipment," Matt says, the worry clear in his tone. "We've been working on this for a few days now, remember?" A lightbulb turns on somewhere deep in Sam's mind, and he reaches for it, follows the light until he finds a small closet at the back of his consciousness that holds a memory he doesn't remember. It's locked down tight in a little box that's tucked into the corner, hidden out of sight, carelessly misplaced. Sam opens the box with ease, tearing off the lid and instantly remembering something that he never even knew he forgot.

"Right, yeah," Sam says, pretending that he's just a bit forgetful, that the carefully crafted plan just slipped his mind. Not that the memory was locked away, hidden and half-erased. "The shipment of heroin coming into the dock tonight." The memory is crisp now, of Sam sitting in Matt's apartment four days ago, drinking a cup of coffee and detailing hiding places on the docks and which vigilante will take out which side of the sale—Matt will take the sellers, and Sam will take the buyers. The memory is crisp, but the edges are faded, browned and cracked and only visible if Sam squints really hard and concentrates on them. It's little things,  the name of the gang buying the drugs and the exact dock number the shipment will arrive at, but Sam knows that he knew them a few short days ago. Retaining details was always supposed to be one of Sam's strong suits.

Sam knows that his memory hasn't been quite right since Lebanon, since the back of his head connected with a telephone pole and sent important memories swirling into the mist. Sam has been able to manage without knowing exactly what happened in Lebanon, or in the three or four months on either side. But now, he's forgetting things that happened much more recently, things that are much more pertinent. Things that are happening here, happening now.

Things that could get someone killed if Sam doesn't realize that he's forgotten them.

"Sam?" Matt's voice breaks through the worries clouding Sam's mind, and Sam nods hesitantly, considering his next words carefully.

He should tell Matt, should tell Tony, should tell everyone. If Sam is losing his memory, he's far from the only one at risk.

"I'm good," Sam says, and Matt nods.

"Good," Matt says, pulling his cowl back on. "Because we've got to go." Matt holds out his hand, and Sam takes it, teleporting them both to the docks. They land on top of a warehouse on the edge of Dock Seven, and Matt jumps off of the roof, landing on a shipping container and heading for the water's edge at an angle. Sam follows close behind, stepping where Matt does and following Matt's winding path across the tops of shipping containers until they reach a vantage point that offers them a clear view of Dock Six.

There's a small fishing boat pulling into the dock, and five men are waiting for it to arrive. Their souls are bright in the empty shipyard, but Sam is more concerned with the rifles that shine in the light of the full moon.

The buyers are armed, heavily armed.

"Let's go," Matt says, grinning and jumping off of the shipping container just as three men step off of the boat, one holding an assault rifle and the other two carrying a large crate between them. Sam nods to himself—he can do this, he has to do this—and follows Matt to the ground, yellow eyes glowing and hands raised.

"Damn it." One of the buyers says, and Dock Six quickly descends into chaos.

Five guns are pointed at Sam's head, and he makes quick work of them, sending rifles and shotguns flying into the ocean with a wave of his hands. A couple of men get shots off before Sam can disarm them and he teleports to the side, letting the bullets pass him by and drill harmless holes into the side of a shipping container. An angry buyer draws a knife and runs at Sam with a yell and Sam raises one hand, freezing the man in place and plucking the blade from his hands.

A loud snap draws Sam's attention to Matt, who is in the process of disarming the trio of sellers. Matt is engaged in hand-to-hand combat with one seller, and the other two are on the ground, one unconscious and the other holding his knee, clearly in pain. Matt's billy club is lying on the ground a few yards away from the action, and Sam holds out a hand, grabbing the club and swinging it around just as one of the buyers approaches him from behind.

The buyer is on the ground in seconds, holding his nose, and it doesn't take long for Sam to deal with the rest of the buyers. Within five minutes, all eight people involved in the sale have been incapacitated—two injured and six unconscious—and sirens are rapidly approaching the docks. Matt holds out his hand and Sam passes back the billy club he borrowed, waiting for Matt to return it to its holster before putting his hand on Matt's shoulder and teleporting them both away from the scene.

A moment later, Sam and Matt are standing in an alley, one that Sam recognizes as being a few blocks away from Matt's apartment in Hell's Kitchen. The moon has once again disappeared behind the clouds, submerging the alley in darkness.

"I'm going to head back to the tower, I think," Sam says. A headache is beginning to make itself known just behind his eyes, likely due to his repeated teleportation and the use of his telekinesis. When Matt doesn't respond, Sam frowns, turning to his friend.

Matt is staring intently at something several yards down the alley, shrouded in shadow.

"Sam, what is that?" Matt asks, and Sam takes a couple of steps down the alley, squinting to try to make out the shape—even with Sam's enhanced vision, it's too dark in the alley to see more than a vague outline.

Sam continues to move closer, acting cautiously even though there's no soul to be found—which means this isn't a person or even a monster. When Sam is only a few feet away, the full moon escapes from behind the clouds, and the alley is saturated in light.

Sam stares in horror at the body lying at his feet, neck twisted at an unnatural angle and eyes staring blankly up at the sky.

"It's a body," Sam says, shaking his head slowly. He hears Matt come up behind him but Sam can't turn away, can't stop staring. Because this isn't just any body.

It's the man Sam encountered earlier, the man who was attacking a woman, the man who disappeared before Sam could intervene. That was only a couple of hours ago, and yet here the man is, lying dead in an alley halfway across Manhattan.

There's no doubt in Sam's mind that the man was killed by whoever—or whatever—made him disappear.

Sam doesn't know how the man vanished, why he died, or what happened to the woman he was attacking. Sam doesn't know if this death is the work of a new vigilante aspiring toward heroism or villainy, or someone else entirely. But there's one thing that Sam knows for sure.

There's someone new in town, someone powerful. And they aren't wasting any time.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam spends the better part of a week debating whether or not to tell Tony about what happened on his patrol with Matt. Tony should definitely know about the man's murder, there's no doubt about that—especially since the kill had all the hallmarks of a vigilante murder—but Sam doesn't want to go to Tony with nothing but gut instinct and a face that he  _maybe_ recognized. Tony should definitely know about Sam's growing memory issues, but Sam doesn't want Tony to worry. Tony is already dealing with the fallout of taking Sam in, of everything with the Judge, of moving the Avengers upstate. Sam can't add on to Tony's problems. He won't.

So Sam keeps quiet and keeps busy. He spends his days in the gym, psychoanalyzing every detail of Tony's supernatural simulations, and his nights on the streets, stopping every crime he can find and surveying the city until the sun rises. It takes Sam a couple of days to figure out what exactly it is that he's searching for.

Sam has to know what happened to the man he found in the alley. Where he went, who killed him, what happened to the woman he was attacking. Sam has to understand the series of events that led to the man's death, has to figure out if there's a new villain in town.

Has to figure out  _why_.

A week to the day after the incident, Sam returns to the tower in the early hours of the morning to find JARVIS waiting with a message from Tony, telling Sam to come to his lab. Sam agrees and pulls his mask down around his neck as the private elevator rockets upward. It isn't until the elevator has slowed to a stop that Sam pauses to wonder  _why_ Tony wants him to come to the lab.

"Sit down," Tony says when the doors open, and apprehension rises in the pit of Sam's stomach. He knows that he has nothing to fear here, knows that Tony won't hurt him, but Sam also knows that his relationship with Tony—and with everyone else he's met in Manhattan—is fragile. Sam's friendships are built on sand, ready to shift and crumble at the slightest provocation. Ready to be scorched into glass and shattered in an instant.

Sam doesn't want to lose Tony.

Sam walks over to the table and sits down, watching a Tony grabs a couple of vaguely familiar tools and sets them down on his workbench. Tony turns and holds out his hand and Sam takes off his prosthetic, silently passing it over. Tony raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment, setting the leg down on his workbench.

"JARVIS, scan it," Tony says, and a moment later there's a holographic blueprint of Sam's prosthetic floating above the real one. Tony pulls it apart, examines it, and runs a few tests before humming in approval and passing the leg back to Sam, all without once touching his tools. "The kid did good," Tony says as Sam pulls his leg back on, frowning. "This was just a check-up, to see if the work we did held up. Looks like you're all set, Sam."

"Thanks," Sam says quietly, swinging his leg experimentally a few times and then standing and heading for the door.

"Sam?" Tony asks, a touch of hesitation in his tone, and Sam pauses.

"Yeah?" He replies, turning back around. Tony is watching Sam curiously, a frown forming on his face as he looks Sam over with the eyes of a mechanic—searching for irregularities, broken pieces, and trying to figure out how to fix them.

"I know that you've been avoiding Peter," Tony says, crossing his arms and quirking an eyebrow. Sam hesitates, glancing at the elevator and then back at Tony. Sam knows that he can leave at any time, knows that he isn't trapped—Tony knows better than to make Sam feel like he's trapped—but even though Sam wants nothing more than to teleport right out of the lab, out of the tower, hell, out of Manhattan, he doesn't move. Because Tony is right.

Sam  _is_ avoiding Peter. He has been ever since Peter started coming around regularly. He hasn't stopped in the days since Peter helped fix his leg—in fact, he hasn't even thought about it.

"I want to know why." Tony continues. "Did he do something to piss you off? Did  _I_ do something to piss you off?" Sam is shaking his head before Tony can even finish the thought because that's all wrong, too wrong. Sam could never hate Tony, could never hate Peter, and that's part of the problem.

"He's too... pure. Innocent." Sam says slowly, forcing each word out against the wishes of a mind that still screams that he can't trust anyone, that he can't risk losing the people he trusts regardless. "I can't... I can't ruin him. I won't."

"You aren't going to ruin Peter, Sam," Tony says patiently, something akin to empathy shining in his eyes. "You aren't going to ruin any of us."

"You can't know that for sure." Sam insists. "You can't know that knowing me won't get you killed, won't ruin your lives. None of you are dead yet, but that won't last forever. I have... I have a tendency to get the people I care about killed." Tony looks a bit shocked by Sam's words, and it takes Sam a minute to realize that he hasn't ever actually told the Avengers that he cares about them. He's thought it, sure—often against his own wishes—but he's never once told them how he felt. Never told Tony.

The secrets Sam is keeping aren't just hurting him.

"I've done it a million times before, torn people from their lives and gotten them killed," Sam says, shaking his head. "I did it to another Peter, once. Took a smart kid with a bright future ahead of him from his family and ruined him."

"What are you talking about, Sam?" Tony asks, concerned. Sam takes a deep, shaky breath and stares intently down at his feet.

"His name was... was Kevin Tran," Sam says, swallowing hard. "And when we met, he was 17 years old and practically guaranteed to go to Harvard." Sam's heart weighs heavily in his chest, but he takes a breath to steady himself and presses forward. Tony deserves to know what risks he's really taking on by being Sam's friend. "He was a prophet, chosen at the beginning of time to be able to read the Word of God. Dean and I convinced him to help us translate a tablet we had found that may have had the potential to lock the gates of Hell forever." Sam's hands begin to shake as he recalls other volatile memories associated with that particular plan. "He was kidnapped by demons, his girlfriend was murdered right in front of him, and he still kept working." Harsh shudders wrack Sam's body, and he swallows convulsively, eyes flashing yellow for a brief moment. "He was killed by an angel at age nineteen. Dean found his body, and he didn't even have time to mourn because he was busy looking for me. Because I was possessed by the angel who did it." Sam shakes his head, closing his eyes for a moment and then looking up at Tony. "It was my hands that ended Kevin Tran's life."

"Sam, none of that was your fault," Tony says, his eyes wide.

"Wasn't it?" Sam asks. "The demons never would have known about Kevin if I hadn't found him first. If I had never convinced him to help me, he would be 24 right now, probably attending Harvard Law. Instead, he died young. Instead, I killed him."

"You didn't kill him," Tony says. "You were possessed." Sam notes distantly that Tony is taking the whole possession thing pretty well, considering Sam doesn't think he ever brought that up before today. "You were doing something beyond your control,  with someone else pulling the strings. You didn't choose to kill him, Sam." Sam shrugs halfheartedly, and Tony scowls. "Sam Winchester." He says sharply, and Sam flinches, looking up and meeting Tony's eyes. "You are not a monster. I don't care what happened in your past, what you did or what you were forced to do. That boy's death was  _not_ your fault. And if anything happens to me, or to one of the other Avengers, or, God help us, to Peter, that won't be your fault, either."

Tony steps forward, stopping a foot away from Sam and looking up at him with sorrow in his eyes that fills Sam with guilt. Sam is making Tony feel guilty, now. Making things worse.

"We all stare danger in the eye every day," Tony says. "We're superheroes. We put our lives at risk to help other people. You didn't change that by coming here, by warning us about the supernatural, by being our friend. You didn't make our lives any more dangerous than they already were." Tony hesitates. "You can't distance yourself from people just because you think you're going to hurt them, Sam. That's not healthy. Or at least, that's what my therapist says." Tony shakes his head, cracking a smile for a split second that quickly fades back into a frown. "Nothing that you've introduced me to in the past six months is any more deadly than the stuff I've been dealing with for the last decade. You aren't going to get me killed, Sam. You aren't going to get any of us killed." Tony pauses. "I know that me saying it probably doesn't make that fear go away, but trust me. Please, trust me. Trust that we'll be okay."

Tony smiles a real, genuine smile that's filled with a lot of pain and just a little bit of empathy.

"If anything happens to any of us, ever, Sam, it isn't your fault," Tony repeats. "We chose to be your friends, and I'm speaking on behalf of the Avengers when I say that we chose to be your family, too. We all chose to trust you with our lives, Sam, and if anything ever happens to any of us, I promise that we'll have chosen that, too." Tony nods firmly, his smile never wavering. Sam steps forward unthinkingly, wrapping his arms around Tony and hugging him as hard as he can.

"Thank you," Sam says, ignoring the tears in his eyes and hoping that Tony does the same. Tony stiffens at first, but after a moment, he relaxes and hugs Sam back.

Sam can't see Tony's face, but he can feel Tony's grin.

"Sir, I hate to interrupt, but you're receiving a call from Captain Rogers," JARVIS says, sounding genuinely regretful. Sam and Tony step back, and Sam looks up at the ceiling, while Tony turns his attention to his workbench.

"Answer it," Tony says, and a moment later Steve's upper half appears above the workbench, partially in color but tinged a light blue. "Hey, Cap."

"Stark. Sam." Steve inclines his head in Sam's direction for a moment, then frowns. "I wanted to ask if you were running any tests on the security system this week."

"Not that I know of," Tony says. "JARVIS?"

"No tests are being performed for the rest of this month, Captain Rogers," JARVIS says, and Steve nods, still frowning.

"Why?" Tony asks.

"It's probably nothing, but the proximity alarms near the outdoor shooting range went off a few minutes ago," Steve explains. "Nat and I reviewed the footage, but there was nothing there. Not even a squirrel."

"When I come up this weekend, I can check it out," Tony says. "It's probably an error. Even JARVIS isn't perfect."

"I respectfully disagree." JARVIS quips, and Tony smirks, shaking his head.

"Send me the security footage anyway," Tony says. "I'll take a look,  see if there was a shadow or a bird or something that the cameras mistook for a person." Steve nods again.

"Sounds good." He says. "Let me know if you find anything." The call ends, and Steve's face disappears, replaced a moment later by a rectangular box depicting a grassy field and a few trees.

"This is our footage?" Tony asks.

"Affirmative, Sir," JARVIS replies.

"Alright, play it starting one minute before the alarms went off." Tony orders, falling silent as the footage begins to play.

The only sign that the video is even playing is the subtle motion of the leaves on the trees in the background, pushed by a light breeze. The sun wasn't up when Sam got back to the tower an hour ago, but it's apparently risen since, casting long shadows across the grass in the foreground of the screen. Sam assumed that the footage was silent, so when a loud alarm goes off, Sam jumps, eyes flashing yellow.

"JARVIS, rewind fifteen seconds." Tony orders with a frown. "I didn't see anything, Sam, did you?" Sam shakes his head, staring more intently at the footage the second time around. He looks for any disturbance, any marked shift in the atmosphere, anything that could have triggered the alarm. After fifteen seconds, the sirens go off again, and Tony pauses the footage with a wave of his hand. "I guess it was just an equipment malfunction," Tony says, clearly unhappy about the prospect. Sam is inclined to agree with Tony's assessment—he still hasn't seen anything change in the few seconds before the alarms went off.

And yet, something is bugging Sam about the footage.

"Play it one more time," Sam says. "Just for the hell of it." Tony shrugs,  repeating the command to JARVIS, who rewinds the video again.

"Tony, where's the edge of the property?" Sam asks before the footage rolls. "Like, where do the sensors stop reading?"

"That line of trees at the back," Tony says, pointing out the trees that Sam was watching the first time around.

"Play the footage," Sam says, focusing his attention on the tree line. And the third time around, he finally sees it.

For the first ten or so seconds, the trees are almost completely still, their leaves dancing slowly in the light morning breeze. But for a split second, just a moment before the proximity alarms go off, some of the leaves pick up speed. It's so sudden that it's barely noticeable, but once Sam sees it, it seems obvious. What makes Sam worry is that the leaves aren't just moving the way they would if a bird in the tree took flight, or the wind unexpectedly picked up.

The leaves on every tree in the row are pushed in the same direction one after the other, just for a moment, as if someone is running past too fast for the human eye to see. There for one second and gone the next.

There was no malfunction.

"What do you see, Sasquatch?" Tony asks, sending Sam a curious look.

"I don't know," Sam admits, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's probably nothing, but the leaves were moving."

"How so?" Tony asks. "JARVIS, zoom in on the trees at the back." The image zooms in, depicting the trees in much greater detail. "Play back," Tony adds, and the footage rewinds and starts again. About five seconds before the alarms go off, the screen darkens for just a moment. A dark blur shoots across the camera's view and the trees rustle in its wake, settling down just as the alarms begin to blare.

"There," Sam says, and Tony nods.

"What was that? Something fast, surely."

"Ridiculously fast." Sam shakes his head. "Can you slow down the footage?"

"You heard him, Jar," Tony says, and the footage replays once more. The blur passes by again, slower this time but still indistinguishable. It's moving at almost an average human's walking speed now, but it's still just a dark blur. A shadow, staining the otherwise picturesque view. "Huh," Tony says, shaking his head. "Whatever that was, it didn't seem to be heading toward the Compound, at least. Just skirting the edge."

"Do you think we should be worried?" Sam asks, and Tony shakes his head.

"I doubt it." He says. "There's no point in getting everyone worked up over a shadow." Sam nods hesitantly, his eyes still on the frozen image of a dark blur in front of the trees.

Tony is right. A shadow isn't much to go on, and for the most part, it's nothing to worry about.

But Sam knows better than anyone that not every shadow is just a shadow.


	7. Chapter 7

Whenever Sam puts on his mask and heads into the city, he searches for light. The glowing of human souls is a beacon, drawing Sam toward faceless shapes standing too close together, or moving far too fast, or pointing their arms at each other. Sam has gotten good at reading the body language of people blocks away from him, distinguishing honest intentions from sinister ones in an instant.

Manhattan is a city filled with lights, doubly so for Sam. But the only light he cares about is the soft glow of a soul.

Every night for the past year, Sam has followed the light. But tonight, in an alley a few blocks away from the edge of Manhattan, it's not the light that draws Sam in but the absence of it. The dark corner of the city that never sleeps is just dark enough, just void enough of life that it piques Sam's curiosity, pulls him forward into the shadows. Or maybe what draws him in is not the darkness but the inexplicable light, for just barely visible in the small space is the warm glow of a human soul, except there's no human being there to hold it.

Sam knows firsthand that a body can live without a soul, can function without a conscience or emotions. But a soul is different. It feeds off of a body, uses it as a carrier, as a sort of vessel. Without a body, a soul is nothing, not on Earth. In Heaven and Hell, things are different. But this isn't Heaven, and it certainly isn't Hell. So this soul right here, hiding in the darkness, shouldn't be able to exist. Yet it does. It's against everything Sam understands, but there's a soul here without a body.

A moment too late, Sam finally realizes that the soul  _has_ a body.

The shadow, the little corner of darkness, it's moving, shifting, alive. Rivers of darkness flow from the soul, wrapping around Sam just as solidly as a pair of arms, pulling him into the shadows, enveloping him in darkness. A shadow strand covers Sam's mouth, covers his eyes, and suddenly the world grows darker, and for the first time, Sam truly understands what it feels like to be blind. And then the shadowed arms around Sam's chest tighten their hold, constrict around his torso and force the air from his lungs. Sam chokes, struggles, but the shadow is stronger, too strong. And one of the veins of darkness wraps around Sam's neck like a vice, squeezing tight until Sam can no longer breathe.

And then, Sam hears a voice that he's heard before. A voice he never thought he'd hear now, here. A voice he never imagined he'd be thankful to hear.

"What the hell?" Peter Parker asks in complete disbelief, and despite the circumstances, Sam actually manages a smile, manages a word.

"Help." He forces out, praying that it isn't Peter standing before him but Spider-Man, not a teenager but a hero. The thwip of a web answers the question Sam couldn't ask, and he relaxes slightly, only for Spider-Man to immediately point out another issue.

"I can't even see what's attacking you," Peter admits. "Actually, I can barely see you, either. It's so... dark."

"Shadow," Sam says, gritting his teeth when the shadowed snake around his neck winds itself even tighter.

"I mean, I can try to web it, but I'm not sure what good it'll do." Peter rambles. "I don't really know how to fight a shadow if I'm being honest. Like, can you even fight something you can't touch? Although, I guess you can touch this shadow. Or at least, it can touch you. Which you already knew, obviously. Since it's currently choking you to death." If Sam could breathe, he would groan. In the current circumstances, however, he has to settle for a pained wheeze. It still achieves the intended effect, however, because Peter stops talking and fires a web. And somehow, it works.

The web, which appears to be floating in the air, held up only by the darkness, drops suddenly to the ground, and the soul disappears as the shadowed corner brightens considerably. Sam curses, teleporting back into the corner and looking around. After confirming that the creature is gone, Sam swears again, anger and irritation surging through him as he punches the wall, ignoring the crumbling brick that falls to the ground as a result.

"Woah," Peter says, and Sam turns, yellow eyes brightening as he examines the teen superhero more closely. "Darkside?" Sam nods, not trusting his voice after being nearly strangled. Luckily, Peter can talk enough for the both of them. "You're so cool! I've always wanted to meet you. I have so many questions. Like, uh, your powers. How did you get them? And do you have, like, night vision, or do your eyes just glow and that's it? Are they always yellow or can you change the color? Why did you decide to wear a mask over your mouth instead of your eyes like most people? What about-"

"Spidey." Sam interrupts with a groan, rubbing his throat. "Please." Peter nods hesitantly, apparently getting the message because he doesn't continue his barrage of questions. Sam swallows hard, wincing at the tightness of his throat. Talking is going to be tough for a few days if it's possible at all.

"Are you okay?" Peter asks awkwardly, looking up at Sam. Sam can't see Peter's eyes through his mask, but Sam can picture the concern in them. Peter has a big heart, Sam knows that for sure. It's one of the reasons he was so scared to meet the kid. The last thing Sam wants is to corrupt someone as innocent and pure as Peter Parker.

Since his throat twinges at the mere thought of speaking, Sam just nods in affirmation, sending Peter a look he hopes conveys his gratitude.

"Are you sure? You were almost killed by a shadow..." Peter trails off, whipping around and facing the street. "...monster." He concludes apprehensively, staring intently at the opposite side of the road. Sam follows Peter's gaze to the wall of the building across the street, where a shadow is steadily making its way toward Sam and Peter despite the absence of anything that could possibly be casting it. The whole thing is vaguely familiar to Sam, but the shadow is nearly upon the pair by the time he figures out why.

The shadow lifts one arm, and a plume of darkness strikes out at Sam, tearing three long gashes in his chest with invisible claws.

"What the hell?!" Peter yells, jumping back as Sam curses, eyes glowing even brighter. Peter's soul is so bright it's nearly blinding, but Sam focuses his attention on the other soul in the area—the shadow's. It's the same warm glow as before, but this time, it's taken the shape of a human being within the shadow. The monster lifts his arm again, preparing for another attack, and Sam dives at Peter, squeezing his eyes shut and teleporting them both away just as the shadow's hand comes down.

"What the hell?" The words Sam is hearing for the third time in the past hour are spoken this time by a voice much older than Peter's. Sam opens his eyes to see Tony standing a few feet away from Sam and Peter, holding a glass of whiskey in one hand and his phone in the other. Peter jumps to his feet, looking around in confusion.

"We're in Avengers Tower? But-"

"Teleported." Sam grunts, sitting up and pressing one hand to his chest.

"Mr. Stark, hi," Peter says shyly. "I'm, uh, just gonna go now, gotta save the world, you know how it is. Um, Spider-Man..." Peter trails off and starts to head for the door, but Sam lifts one hand, freezing Peter in place.

"Tell him... 'appened," Sam says, groaning when both his throat and chest protest. Sam drops his hand and Peter nods, turning back to Tony and taking a breath before nodding again.

"I was, uh, patrolling, and I found this alley that was, like, super dark," Peter explains. "Like, darker than it should have been. So I went to investigate, and it was, like, moving, so I said something and someone said 'help' so I shot a web and it hit the dark."

"It hit the dark?" Tony replies, frowning and turning to Sam for confirmation. Sam groans again, nodding and waving one hand weakly for Tony to continue. Tony's eyes stay on Sam's hand for a long moment. "JARVIS, send DUM-E up here with a first-aid kit," Tony says, glancing worriedly at Sam before turning his attention back to Peter. "Continue." Sam turns his hand around, shaking his head when he sees the fresh blood that coats his palm.

"The shadow moved when my web hit it, and the guy it was trapping got free and teleported over to me, and that's when I realized it was Darkside." Peter continues. "He tried to do that telekinesis thing on the shadow, but it just disappeared." Peter is full-on rambling at this point but Tony doesn't seem to mind, and Sam is a little bit too busy bleeding to tell Peter to shut up, so he listens in silence. "And then we were talking, and something set off my Spidey senses so I turned around and the shadow was back, and it attacked Darkside, and now his chest is bleeding even though I never saw any claws. And then the shadow tried to attack us again, but Darkside teleported us here." Peter finishes the story and immediately turns to Sam. "Why did you take us here, anyway?"

"Tony," Sam says, and Tony turns as well. "Tell... Peter." The eyes on the Spider-Man suit widen comically, and Tony sighs, shaking his head.

"And yet everyone says that I'm the dramatic one," Tony says, and Sam musters up a smile. The elevator doors open and DUM-E enters the room, carrying Tony's oversized first aid kit in his claw. The robot heads straight for Sam and drops the kit down, and Sam smiles, nodding his thanks and getting to work.

"How do you know who I am?" Peter asks. "Not that my name is actually Peter." He quickly backtracks. "I never said that it was. But if it was, how would you know?"

"Peter, mask off." Tony says, nodding to Sam. "You too, Sasquatch." Sam was already planning on taking his mask off, but that doesn't stop him from scowling at Tony as he pulls his mask down to hang around his neck. For his part, Tony just winces. "That- what was it, a shadow monster? That shadow monster really did a number on your throat." Tony comments and Sam raises an eyebrow incredulously.

"Wait, Sam?" Peter says, finally pulling off his mask. "You're Darkside?" Sam nods, blinking and letting his demon sight fade away. "Everything about you suddenly makes so much more sense," Peter says, and Sam rolls his eyes, smirking. He pulls a roll of bandages and some disinfectant out of the first aid kit and starts to pull off his jacket, wincing when the gashes on his chest protest. Tony and Peter both watch quietly as Sam frees himself from his jacket and shirt, exposing the large, deep wounds the so-called 'shadow monster' left behind.

"Ouch." Tony winces sympathetically, and Sam shrugs, applying the disinfectant liberally and wrapping the bandages around his chest as tightly as he dares.

"Had worse," Sam explains once he's done, climbing to his feet and rubbing his throat again.

"Well, you've sounded better," Tony replies. "Although I have to say, the scratchy, husky voice suits you."

"Thanks." Sam says flatly, sending Tony a look that hopefully conveys that Sam didn't appreciate the 'compliment' at all.

"So, what was that thing?" Tony asks after a minute, changing the subject. Peter shrugs so Tony turns to Sam, who points to his throat and mimes writing. Tony offers up his phone, and Sam grabs it, opening a notepad app and typing as quickly as he can.

"It was a daeva, I think," JARVIS speaks up, reading what Sam types. "They're a rare type of demon, I've encountered one before. They're invisible other than their shadows, and they have long claws." Tony nods, but Peter frowns.

"But this wasn't some invisible thing casting a shadow, it  _was_ a shadow. Like, it was made out of darkness." Peter points out, and Sam nods, typing more.

"I know, and that's where I'm stuck, too," JARVIS says. "When it first attacked me, it tried to strangle me. That's not typical of daevas, they tend to go straight to the bit with the claws." Sam pauses in his typing to gesture to his chest. "But both attacks were definitely by the same creature."

"So what are we dealing with here?" Tony asks. "Some kind of shadow creature? A living shadow?"

"No, not a shadow exactly," Sam says through JARVIS. "Even with a daeva, there's a physical form casting a shadow, just one that isn't visible to the human eye. This thing is pure darkness. An absence of light. It's a shadow where a shadow doesn't belong."

"An area of darkness, of shadow, where one shouldn't exist," Tony says, and Sam and Peter both nod in agreement.

"If I may interrupt of my own accord, Sir, it sounds as if you're describing a penumbra," JARVIS says.

"Isn't that another word for an eclipse?" Peter asks.

"Yes, in astronomical terms," JARVIS replies. "But penumbra also simply means 'a shadowy area,' which appears to be an approximate description of your attacker."

"Well, penumbra definitely sounds better than 'shadow monster.'" Tony comments and Sam nods.

"Definitely, although I don't think we should be giving this thing a name." JARVIS returns to speaking for Sam. "Isn't that a rule? Don't name the bad guys?"

"Only on TV," Tony says. "In real life, it just makes them easier to keep track of." Tony pauses. "How do we know that this is a bad guy, though?" Sam raises an eyebrow. "Well, yeah, it tried to kill you, but maybe it just got confused. Happens to the best of us." Sam shakes his head, typing out his thoughts.

"The other day, something set off the proximity alarms at the Compound, remember?" JARVIS says, and Tony nods. "When we watched the footage, all we saw was a shadow." Sam hesitates. "And about a week before that, Matt and I went on patrol, and I watched a woman try to fight off a man in an alley. When I tried to intervene, they both disappeared. We found the man lying in another alley a few hours later with a broken neck. Both times, it was dark. Weirdly dark."

"You think it was Penumbra?" Tony asks, and Sam nods.

"I think both cases were," Sam admits, wishing he could say the words himself. This doesn't sound right in JARVIS's voice. "I don't think it attacking me tonight was a coincidence. Not when I saw it a week ago. Not if it was snooping around the Avengers Compound. I have a feeling that whoever or whatever Penumbra is, they're coming after me."

"You and your supervillains," Tony says, shaking his head. "Life with you is never boring, Sam."

"Why would Penumbra want to go after you, Mr. Sam?" Peter asks. Sam ignores the return of the 'Mr. Sam' moniker, for the time being, typing out an answer to Peter's question.

"I don't have a great relationship with the supernatural," Sam explains. "Whoever Penumbra is, they've got a lot in common with a daeva. I don't think that's a coincidence."

"I guess it's back to babysitting duty, then," Tony says, shaking his head. "We let you off the leash for one night, and you go and get attacked."

"Sorry," JARVIS says for Sam. And even though JARVIS's tone may be flat, Sam really does mean it. He's brought another villain into the Avengers' backyard, only a few months after the last one. And this time, he might have dragged Peter into the fight, too.

Regardless of what Tony said the other day, if the Avengers die by supernatural means, their deaths will be on Sam. And Sam can't live with that.

Sam wants to believe that nothing bad will happen, but he doubts that he'll get off that easy. He's never been that lucky.

And something tells him that Penumbra is just getting started.


	8. Chapter 8

Following Penumbra's attack, Sam's week is relatively uneventful. Two days after the attack, he has an awkward video call with Dean where Sam has to explain via JARVIS what happened—and why he can't speak. Dean, predictably, doesn't react terribly well, and his mood only worsens when he demands to talk to Tony only to discover that Sam is alone in Avengers Tower while Tony and Peter are at the compound.

Sam spends the following week operating under Tony's watchful eye. Wherever Sam goes—whether in the tower or elsewhere in Manhattan—Tony is never far behind. Sam figures that Dean found a way to voice his displeasure about Sam's being alone to Tony. Either that or Tony is just as worried about Sam's safety as Dean is.

A week after Sam's video chat with Dean, late on a Friday morning, Sam finds himself sitting on a couch in the communal lounge, staring blankly at the TV. Something is playing on the screen, but the volume is turned so low that Sam can't hear anything more than a quiet hum—not that he was really paying attention in the first place. The TV suddenly pauses, a picture of a car frozen on the screen. Sam gives the image a passing glance as he turns around, watching as Tony walks over to the couch, leaning against the back and crossing his arms.

"Do you want to come to Avengers Compound with me this weekend?" Tony asks after a minute. It's phrased as a question but the way Tony says it suggests that he isn't really asking.

"Why?" Sam asks anyway, voice still slightly hoarse—it took about three days after Penumbra's attack for Sam to regain the ability to speak, and even now, over a week later, his throat is slightly sore.

Sam wonders if Tony will tell the truth about his invitation—that he doesn't want to let Sam out of his sight—or if he'll offer some other reason.

"Well, you've never made it up there before." Tony points out. "It's a rare weekend where almost everyone will be around since both Romanoff and Barton are going to be in town. Plus, Peter can't make it this weekend." Tony raises an eyebrow, apparently expecting that particular piece of information to be what convinces Sam to take Tony up on his offer.

Sam pauses, thinking through Tony's reasoning. First of all, it's true that Sam has never actually been to the compound. And since Sam can only teleport to places he's already been, putting his feet down at the Avengers Compound could prove beneficial in the long run. What's even more convincing is the fact that Sam hasn't actually seen some of the Avengers in months. He last saw Natasha, Bucky, and Steve at the opening statements for Bucky's trial a few weeks ago—although they come down multiple times a week, Sam hasn't attended since the incident at lunch that first day, and there's rarely time for Bucky and his chaperones to visit the tower before they head back upstate—and Sam hasn't seen Bruce or Clint since they moved out of Avengers Tower a couple of months ago.

"Sure," Sam says.

"Great!" Tony replies, genuine excitement shining in his eyes. "Grab a weekend bag and some clothes, and meet me in the garage in fifteen minutes. If we get an early start, I can give you the grand tour before dinner." Tony turns and heads for the elevator, but Sam pauses.

"Wait." He says, and Tony stops just outside the elevator, turning around to face Sam expectantly. "Why isn't Peter coming? This is the first weekend in months that he hasn't gone upstate with you."

"Oh, he has decathlon," Tony explains. "There's a competition in Connecticut tomorrow, the last one of the school year." Sam nods, following Tony into the elevator. They travel up together, and Sam exits on his floor, heading into his room and grabbing his duffel bag.

It doesn't take long for Sam to gather what he'll need for a two-night trip upstate, and within five minutes, Sam is back in the elevator and arriving at the garage. Tony is waiting patiently next to one of his nicer muscle cars, and when Sam approaches, Tony pops the trunk and pulls it open. Sam is about to toss his bag inside when he sees another duffel bag, remarkably similar to his own, already in the trunk.

"What's this?" Sam asks, setting his bag down beside the mystery one. He doubts that the bag belongs to Tony—duffels aren't really Tony's style—and besides, Tony probably has a fully-stocked closet at the Avengers Compound, so there's no reason for him to need to bring a bag at all.

"Open it," Tony says, and Sam unzips the bag and pulls it open to reveal, to his surprise, a collection of hunters' weapons. There are a few shotguns with a generous supply of salt rounds, some iron bullets for standard pistols, three angel blades, and even a machete, two wooden stakes, and a vial of what Sam assumes based on the color is dead man's blood. Sam picks up a flask of clear liquid he figures must be holy water and frowns, holding it up so Tony can see it.

"Where'd you get all this?" Sam asks—almost all of these supplies can be found pretty much anywhere, but the angel blades in particular are hard to come by unless you know an experienced hunter personally.

"Sheriff Mills," Tony says. "After the whole situation with Penumbra, I called her. Asked if she had any hunters' weapons she could donate to the Avengers Compound." Tony pauses, clearly hesitant. "I was kind of hoping that you might be willing to teach us how to use them."

With the real reason for Tony's unexpected invitation finally out in the open, Sam can't do much more than nod. He hasn't touched half of the weapons in this bag in over a year and a half, but he's been using them his entire life. Sam learned after he left Stanford that for him, hunting is like riding a bike. No matter how long he goes without doing it, it will always return to him in an instant.

And if the Avengers want to learn how to protect themselves against the monster Sam exposed them to, he's not going to be the one to refuse to help them. Sam already tore off the blindfold, took away that last bit of innocence, made the Avengers targets in a world they barely understand.

The least he can do is prepare them for it. 

* * *

The Avengers Compound, Sam quickly discovers, is massive.

Upon their arrival, Tony leaves Sam in a central lounge, citing a need to tell Steve about Sam's presence. Sam spends about fifteen minutes looking around the lounge—it's remarkably similar to the lounge in Avengers Tower, other than the lack of a kitchen and addition of a pool table in one corner—before he gets bored and decides to try to find a bathroom.

Sam's attempts to locate literally anything are foiled by the sheer size of the building, and despite his automatic path tracking, Sam still manages to get himself lost within minutes. Wandering relatively aimlessly, Sam starts trying random doors, leaving locked ones be and exploring any rooms he happens to find open. Sam figures that he might as well familiarize himself with the compound if he's going to be visiting as often as the Avengers would like.

Most of the rooms Sam looks into are pretty ordinary, other than the high-tech upgrades. He stumbles across a private workout room, two bathrooms, and what he thinks is Steve's new art studio on his search,  but nothing particularly spectacular. Sam is actually starting to think that the compound is somewhat dull compared to the tower when he opens a door into what looks like a fun house.

The room is, as far as Sam can tell, a bedroom. There are a bed and a nightstand against one wall, a dresser on another, and a desk on a third. The dresser and desk are both covered in various knickknacks—Sam sees several Star Wars collectibles, a couple of stuffed versions of aliens from Doctor Who, and, interestingly enough,  an Iron Man action figure—and the bed is unmade. The room looks pretty ordinary until you look up.

The ceiling of the room also holds a few pieces of furniture. There are two chairs and a beanbag mounted upside down, hanging over the bed. Over the desk, a bookshelf is suspended from the ceiling, filled with books of various genres that are reachable only from above. Sam also sees a couple of end tables, both of which are bolted to the ceiling, and both of which appear to have papers resting on the undersides of the tables like they're shelves. Interestingly, the ceiling seems to be covered in the same carpet as the floor.

Simply put, it's the strangest bedroom Sam has ever seen.

"It's Peter's," Tony says from behind Sam, answering Sam's unasked question. Sam turns around to see Tony standing in the doorway, looking at the room with a soft grin on his face. "The first time Peter spent the night, I walked in and found him sitting cross-legged on the ceiling, reading an old Captain America comic book. I remodeled the room after that."

"He was sitting on the ceiling?" Sam asks curiously. He knew, of course, that Peter could stick to walls, but Sam didn't realize that Peter actually enjoyed spending time defying gravity.

"To Peter, a wall is just another floor," Tony explains. "In his eyes, the only difference between the ceiling and the floor is which way his phone falls when he drops it. For the most part, he stays on the ground, but I've noticed that he likes reading upside down."

"That's... actually pretty cool," Sam says, smiling. "So, you fixed this room up for him?"

"Everyone's bedrooms in the compound are designed specifically for them," Tony says. "I come here on the weekends with Peter but spend most of my time at the tower, so for now my room is pretty basic, although I do have a workbench and some spare parts for late night inventing," Tony smirks, shaking his head. "Cap has a big desk and art supplies in his room, and I made sure to give him the room with the best view of the forest. Barton's got easy access to the vents and a loft area. His window also opens into the outdoor archery range so he can practice his long-distance aim if he wants. Things like that."

"You really put a lot of work into this compound, huh," Sam says, and Tony nods.

"I may come and go, but for most of the Avengers, this is home," Tony says. "Barton comes every other weekend to train, and Romanoff spends a lot of time out on missions, so for them, the compound is a comfortable place to crash and relax more than anything. But for Cap and Barnes and Bruce, who live here full time, the compound is home. It's private, secluded, and safe."

"Something the tower wasn't." Sam finishes the thought.

Tony nods. "Exactly." He says, pausing. "You know, there's a room for you here, too." Sam raises an eyebrow at this. He declined Tony's offer of moving into the compound before the Avengers left Manhattan, so there was no reason for Tony to design a room for Sam.

"Really?"

"Yeah, and for Murdock, too," Tony says. "We've got enough spare bedrooms to fit every known superhero in the country, but you and Murdock have actual rooms. Murdock's room has some accessibility features I've been working on, like voice-activated bathroom appliances and the demo version of JARVIS 2.0, that I want Murdock to test out at some point. Still working out the kinks on Braille hard light holograms small enough to fit in a tablet." Sam smiles, picturing Matt's face when he learns that there's a room for him at the Avengers Compound. "I know he's not blind in the traditional sense, but..." Tony trails off, walking over to Peter's desk and picking up the Iron Man action figure, which he scrutinizes carefully.

"He'll love it, I promise," Sam says, and he means it wholeheartedly. "He'll love a tablet he can actually use." Tony smiles at this, setting the action figure down and rubbing his hands together.

"I wasn't sure what exactly to do for your room, though," Tony admits. "Most of what I know about you, I applied to the entire compound."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, remember how you gave Steve and me the crash course on supernatural protection when we asked about the salt thing?" Tony asks, and Sam nods, recalling the onslaught of questions he received after an Avengers encounter with a ghost inspired Sam to line the private entrance to the communal lounge with salt. "I incorporated some of the things you mentioned into the building. Every door and window is lined with special paint I created that has high levels of iron and salt in it. The whole building is covered in those angel wards that you showed us,  all drawn in my own special invisible ink. Scratch-proof, of course, except for one if you ever need to let an angel in for some reason. And every door has a demon trap painted on the ceiling above it,  although you can only see them if you look really hard."

"I didn't realize you listened to all that," Sam says awkwardly.

"We all listened," Tony says. "We're always being forced to adjust to new information in the heat of the moment, so knowing some things ahead of time is a nice change. Cap's shield's latest paint job used the same paint as the windows. Romanoff carries silver bullets now. Barton has started practicing with arrows that hold holy water and inject them into the target. We all know that there's a lot we don't know, and we have to be willing to adapt. You let us in on the world's best-kept secret, Sam, and now we're prepared for something we couldn't possibly have even considered before." Sam nods, watching as Tony hesitates, clearly worried about something.

"What is it?" Sam asks, and Tony steps out of Peter's room, beckoning for Sam to follow. The two walk down the twisting halls of the compound, exiting into the central lounge and then moving past it, down a smaller hallway Sam didn't notice before that has only one door, right at the end.

"I kind of lied about making you a room, to be honest," Tony says as he opens the door, stepping inside. When Sam follows Tony in, he finds himself standing in a smaller sitting room with a few doors around it. "It's more of a suite."

" _This_ is my room?" Sam asks in disbelief, and Tony nods, pointing to a couple of doors.

"There's a kitchen back there, and a small personal gym in that one," Tony explains. "And, uh, two bedrooms."

"Two?" Sam questions and Tony nods hesitantly.

"I know that Murdock and Nelson are doing everything they can to get your brother out of prison. I figured that since your old place is kind of off-limits, you might need somewhere to stay once all of this is behind you."

"Are you offering Dean and I... a home?" Sam asks in disbelief, and Tony nods, a nervous grin forming on his face.

"I know you like the city, Sam, and the tower will always be available. But frankly, after everything that's happened in the past two years, I thought you two might need a break." Tony says. "You're going to have enough to worry about once Dean gets out—and he  _will_ get out. Offering you a place to stay, a place to  _live_ is the least I can do after everything you've done for this city. And for the world."

"I can't... I can't accept this." Sam shakes his head, stepping back as if that will distance him from the enormous gift Tony is trying to offer. "It's too much. It's way too much."

"You can't go back to Lebanon, Sam, you know that," Tony says patiently. "The tower is nice, and it has more than enough room, but it's in the middle of the city. It isn't private, and privacy is something that you and Dean sorely need."

"But, a place  like this..." Sam shakes his head again. "I've never lived somewhere this nice. The bunker was home, but... well, the fixtures were last updated in the 1940s."

"If you're going to be a superhero, you need to learn to start accepting gifts," Tony says. "Same goes for being my friend. Ask anyone on the team and they'll tell you. I give people gifts. Might as well do something with all of this money I have lying around."

"A good prosthetic leg or a new suit is one thing, but an apartment?" Sam asks. "Can I at least pay you rent?"

"I mean, if it makes you feel any better, sure, but I'll just put the money back into your paycheck," Tony says.

"My paycheck," Sam repeats.

"I mean, if you ever join the Avengers, you'll go on SHIELD's payroll," Tony says. "But even if you don't, I should be paying you for all the work you're doing on the simulations. Don't think I haven't noticed that."

"Let me earn my keep." Sam decides, smiling hesitantly. "Not a gift, an offer. A  _paid_ offer. And I'll consider it. And if-"

"When." Tony interrupts, and Sam shakes his head.

"And  _when_ Dean gets out, and  _when_ this is all over, for good, I'll see what he thinks," Sam says. "But until then, I think I'll stick with my room at the tower."

"And that's fine by me," Tony says with a grin. "I'm going to hold you to that. JARVIS, remind me to hold him to that."

"Of course, Sir," JARVIS says, and Sam smiles. He knows that JARVIS has no face, no body, no emotions, but Sam can tell that if he did, JARVIS would be grinning from ear to ear


	9. Chapter 9

It's been months since Sam last sat at a full table.

He hadn't realized until recently just how comfortable he's gotten around a large group of rowdy people. Sam spent most of his childhood alone, living in motel rooms with just his dad and his brother or, more often than not, only Dean. As Sam got older, and Dean started leaving with their father on hunts, Sam could go for weeks without speaking to anyone at length, eating alone at a table for two in a seemingly neverending series of empty restaurants.

It was a fact of Sam's life, that he spent most of it alone. Stanford shook things up a bit when, for the first time, Sam had more than a couple of friends that he regularly saw for several years. But after he left, Sam fell back into his old patterns quickly. In the bunker, Sam and Dean tried to make it a habit to eat meals together, but it was still only the two of them.

Sam had probably never eaten with more than four people at once until he moved in with the Avengers. Despite their erratic schedules, the Avengers tried their best to have dinner together every day, or at the very least a couple of times a week. At first, Sam was far too much of an outsider to join them, but as time went on, he became a regular attendee of the large group dinners.

Despite being a totally new experience for Sam, the loud conversations and excess energy quickly became something that he looked forward to.

And then everyone but Tony moved upstate, and Sam went back to eating at an empty table. Except that this time, he was fully aware of what he was missing.

When Sam exits his suite a couple of hours after Tony leaves, he finds the Avengers gathered in the kitchen that's clearly visible on the opposite side of the lounge.

"Hey, Sam, grab a chair," Steve says cheerfully as Sam crosses the lounge. By the time Sam actually enters the dining room, almost everyone has taken a seat, except for Steve and Sam Wilson, who are both transferring food to the table.

Dinner is a spread of Italian, likely at Tony's request—he told Sam once that Wilson makes the best lasagna Tony has ever had, but to never tell Wilson or anyone else that he said that. Sam takes the empty seat between Bucky and Tony, and when Steve and Wilson are done setting the table, they take the two remaining seats to Bucky's left. Everyone serves themselves—starting with Clint, who digs in almost as soon as the food has touched his plate—and the conversation starts up soon after.

It comes as no surprise to Sam that he's the main subject of tonight's discussion.

"So, Sam, we haven't seen you in a while. How's life at the tower?" Bruce asks, taking a sip of his water. Sam swallows a bite of lasagna and shrugs.

"Boring?" He says. "It's a lot quieter without you guys around. I've mostly been working on simulations in the gym."

"He met Peter finally," Tony interjects, and several of the gazes directed at Sam turn curious.

"What do you think of the kid?" Natasha asks.

"He's... energetic," Sam says hesitantly. "And incredibly optimistic."

"That's Peter Parker in a couple of words." Clint agrees. "Personally, I love the little guy."

"No surprise there, since you're practically a teenager yourself," Tony says, smirking when Clint scowls and points his knife threateningly in Tony's direction.

"Rude."

"On another related subject, how's the throat?" Bruce asks, nodding to the fading bruises that ring Sam's neck. "Tony told us what happened with Peter and the shadow monster last week."

"Penumbra." Natasha gently corrects, shaking her head. "Sounds like quite the character."

"They're powerful, whoever they are." Sam agrees. "And strong, too." He rubs his throat, prodding one of the more significant bruises with the pad of his thumb. Although Sam's injuries no longer hurt terribly, they're still tender to the touch. "I'm more worried about the implications of the attack than the immediate aftermath."

"The fact that Penumbra may have been our shadowy intruder is somewhat concerning," Steve says, forehead furrowing as he thinks. "And that you might have encountered them once before, in an incident that left someone dead."

"Means they aren't afraid of killing people to get what they want," Tony says. "Whatever that may be." Tony pauses, turning to face Sam. "Why do all of your enemies have to be murderous demons, Sasquatch?"

"Well, the Judge was just a person." Sam points out. "But in this case, I can't help but think that Penumbra might be connected to Asmodeus in some way. Penumbra's relationship with daeva is way too similar to my relationship with yellow-eyed demons to be a coincidence."

"You think Penumbra was given their abilities the same way that you were?" Wilson asks, and Sam nods.

"It's not unlikely." He says. "Other than the fact that I have no idea if daeva even  _have_ blood, much less how you'd go about collecting it."

"Origin story aside, we need to figure out how to  _stop_ Penumbra," Steve says. "Preferably before they kill anyone else."

"Which brings me to our next order of business," Tony interjects. "Sam is going to be joining us for weapons training tomorrow morning. I'm thinking we start individually around 10, and then at 11, Sam can teach us how to use some of those supernatural weapons of his."

"You brought weapons?" Bucky asks curiously.

"Well, Tony did," Sam says. "Got them from Jody. But yeah, I can certainly teach you guys how to use them."

"10 o'clock sharp, Sasquatch," Tony says. "Don't be late." Sam is about to reply that he's not one for lateness, but before he has the chance, his phone starts to vibrate in his pocket. Sam apologizes and excuses himself from the table, heading back into his suite and closing the door. Dean's name is staring up at Sam from the screen when he looks down at his phone, and Sam is quick to answer the call, pointing the front camera at his face.

"Hey, Sammy!" Dean says cheerfully, a bright smile on his face that wavers when he realizes that Sam isn't standing in his room at Avengers Tower—the usual backdrop of the video chats. "Those bruises of yours are looking a lot better," Dean comments carefully, gesturing to Sam's throat. Although it's clearly just careful small talk, Dean isn't wrong—what was once a ring of dark bruises has faded to ugly shades of yellow and green.

"They feel a lot better," Sam assures his brother. "And because I know you won't ask, I'm alone, just visiting the Avengers Compound with Tony this weekend." Sam hesitates, biting the inside of his cheek. "Actually, I'm standing in our suite in the Avengers Compound."

" _Our_ suite?" Dean repeats. "As in, you and me?" Sam nods, flipping the camera around and showing Dean the living room he's currently standing in.

"Tony told me earlier that he designed the room with us in mind," Sam explains. "Two bedrooms, a bathroom, even a kitchen, gym, and this private living area. Tony said he wanted me to think about moving in here after you're out of prison." Sam expects Dean to refuse immediately—Sam is terrible at accepting charity, but Dean is even worse.

To Sam's surprise, however, Dean seems less than opposed when he replies, "I think it's a pretty good idea."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Dean sounds surprisingly confident in his words. "We can't go back to Lebanon, Sammy. It's not possible. And Avengers Tower is in the middle of a big city, where everyone's eyes will constantly be on us." Dean is echoing Tony's arguments almost exactly, but he's quick to add one of his own. "Plus, it's not like anyone is going to sell us a house, rent us an apartment, or even let us stay in their motel anymore. Not that we could afford it." Sam nods hesitantly, realizing that his brother is right.

Sam hasn't really considered that, permanent places of living aside, even the managers at the seedy motels the Winchesters used to frequent might not be willing to house the brothers anymore. Sam and Dean's reputations have been beyond tarnished, and no amount of money could change that—regardless of if the penniless brothers could even afford to pay.

"Tony is going to start paying me," Sam says, tackling the only part of the problem that he might actually be able to fix. "For working on his fighting simulations, helping out around the tower, maybe even for giving the Avengers a crash course on the supernatural."

"That's good," Dean says, nodding. "Get some money in your pocket."

"And once I've got enough, however long that takes, maybe the heat will have died down enough for us to find a place of our own," Sam says. "Living in Lebanon isn't possible anymore, like you said, but neither is roaming the country." Sam pauses, rolling his shoulders back and swallowing hard. It's something he still hasn't entirely wrapped his head around. Something he wonders if Dean has even considered. "We can't be hunters anymore, Dean. Not like we used to. The entire country knows our names, knows our faces. There's no more living under the radar."

"Then we live above it," Dean says, determination creasing his features. "Save the world our own damn way. I don't know what that means for me quite yet, but you? You just keep doing what you're doing. Vigilante justice suits you." Dean pauses, a grin stretching across his face. "Live with the Avengers until you don't need them anymore, Sammy. I'll come to join you as soon as I can, and we'll take advantage of their kindness until we can get back on our own two feet. I mean, the Avengers' whole thing is helping people. We're people. And we could sure as hell use the help. What are they gonna do, say no?"

"You hate charity, Dean." Sam points out, and Dean shrugs.

"Then don't call it charity," Dean says, scratching his neck distractedly with one hand and exposing the sleeve of his orange jumpsuit. "Call it repayment for all the times we've saved the world. We stopped the apocalypse, Sammy. I think we've earned a staycation courtesy of the Avengers." Sam hears a faint voice on Dean's end of the line, and Dean shakes his head, groaning loudly and dramatically. "That's my time up," Dean says.

"I'll talk to you soon, Dean."

"Roger that, Sammy." Dean grins. "Tell Stark you'll take him up on that offer, alright? And keep my pillows nice and fluffed for me. I'll be joining you soon enough." Dean's face disappears, and Sam turns off his phone, pocketing it. Sam debates if he should watch some TV or head back out into the central lounge, but eventually decides to get some sleep instead. Tony said that weapons practice starts at ten, and the last thing Sam needs is to be low on energy when he shoots a gun for the first time in over a year.

With that thought in mind, Sam heads into the bedroom that Tony designated as his, stepping unconsciously over the line of salt in the doorway and setting his phone down on the nightstand. Sam changes into a pair of sweatpants and pulls off his prosthetic, then puts his head down on the pillow, hoping that his mind allows him a quiet night.

The second Sam closes his eyes, he finds himself standing somewhere else entirely, trapped in a vision.

_Sam stares hopelessly ahead as Tony drops to his knees beside the boy's body, hiding his face from Sam's view. Hands are holding Sam back, strong and unyielding, wisps of shadow strung from a spider's yarn, as powerful and restrictive as Peter's webs._

_The shadows are Penumbra's, they must be, and yet the creature itself is nowhere to be seen, the dull shadowed glow of Penumbra's soul absent from the picture Sam's demon sight presents. The arms that hold Sam in place disappear and Sam stumbles, lifts one hand, tries to steady himself._

_A sharp pain in his stomach sends Sam to his knees, and as four pairs of eyes fall onto Sam, Sam's eyes lower to his torso. The wound is deep, painful, and clearly fatal, the amount of blood flowing from Sam's stomach an indication that he'll be dead in minutes if not seconds. But that isn't what concerns Sam, not really. Because for the first time, Sam actually sees what it is that dealt the deadly blow._

_An iron-tipped arrow protrudes from Sam's stomach, the shaft dripping with holy water and coated in Sam's own poisoned blood._


	10. Chapter 10

Sam could shoot a can off a fence post by his thirteenth birthday. He could sever a rope with a throwing knife by fifteen. For most of his life, Sam has felt most comfortable with a gun in his hands. 

Now, however, that's no longer true.

In the past, a gun or a knife was often the only thing keeping the monster of the week from tearing out Sam's throat. But ever since Lebanon, ever since his escape from the demons, Sam hasn't needed a weapon. He  _is_ the weapon. His hands, his abilities are dangerous enough on their own that Sam hasn't needed a gun or a knife—and if he has, on the rare occasion that he goes on a hunt that requires a particular weapon, Sam can usually find what he needs.

So when Tony told Sam that Sam was going to join the Avengers on the shooting range, Sam almost refused—he's trying to distance himself from his past, from his old life, and weapons were a significant part of that. But he didn't. Sam wants the Avengers to accept him, wants to find a place where he belongs. He can't risk alienating himself.

Inevitably, when 10 am comes around on Saturday morning, Sam finds himself standing in the shooting range at the Avengers Compound, the duffel bag of hunters' weapons that Jody sent in Sam's hand at Tony's request.

The range isn't anything like Sam was expecting, but he isn't entirely surprised. There's a standard shooting range—a long concrete room with stalls and targets at one end—but there are also hard light holographic ranges courtesy of Tony, a bunch of 3D figures that are positioned around a relatively large room. There are three holographic target rooms in total, each with glass walls so that anyone can see inside. The entire shooting range is set up that way—there's no privacy, and anyone can see what anyone else is doing. Sam figures that it's probably a safety feature—with a group like the Avengers, being able to see what everyone else is doing is probably pretty important—but the idea of fighting that openly makes him uncomfortable. The final feature of the room is a group of four sparring mats in the center, clearly visible from everywhere else in the room.

By the time Sam arrives at the range at 10 am with Tony—who equips his portable palm blasters and heads for one of the traditional targets—Natasha and Clint are already busy, standing side by side in two stalls, hitting bullseye after bullseye with a small caliber handgun and a bow and arrows, respectively. Before Sam has a chance to even think about where to go and what to do, Steve, Sam Wilson, and Bucky arrive. Wilson and Bucky both grab higher caliber guns and head for the range, but Steve just pulls his shield off of his back—he's apparently wearing the magnetic harness under his jacket—and heads for one of the holograph rooms.

The Avengers all practice individually for a while as Sam simply observes, watching the natural rhythm of the exercise and trying to find where he'll fit into it. After a minute, Sam heads for the rack of weapons positioned against the wall between the holograph rooms and the range, scanning the collection. There are several guns of varying types and a couple of extra bows, but what catches Sam's eye is the set of ten throwing knives on a belt hanging on one side of the rack. Sam hesitates—he has significantly less practice with knives than guns, but has always preferred the feel of a throwing knife in his hand to that of a pistol—and glances at the holograph room where Steve is practicing just in time to see the flash of a silver shield as it buries itself in the chest of a glowing orange figure. Throwing knives are far from a conventional ranged weapon, but then again, neither is a bow and arrows or a shield. The Avengers are far from conventional people.

Still hesitant—although John Winchester taught his sons how to use throwing knives properly, he never saw them as a practical hunters' weapon, so Sam rarely if ever used them in actual combat situations—and recalling the reason for his presence here today, Sam decides to wait until next time for the throwing knives. Instead, he reaches for the duffel bag, unzipping it and searching through the stash of hunters' weapons. He eventually decides on an angel blade, picking one up and spinning it in his hand a few times before heading for one of the hologram rooms—Sam has never been very good with a flat target, thanks to his unique training. Sam closes the door of the room and looks around, noting the positions of the floating figures.

"Would you like to run a simulation, young sir?" JARVIS speaks up suddenly, and Sam barely catches himself before he visibly jumps.

"What simulations are there?" Sam asks curiously.

"Sir and Captain Rogers have been transferring some of your supernatural simulations to group settings based on your notes," JARVIS says. "Currently, there are group simulations for vampires, demons, angels, and Leviathan."

"Can I run the angel simulation?" Sam asks.

"Of course, young sir," JARVIS replies, and the immobile orange figures disappear. Sam closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, the world is yellow, and Sam can see Steve through the wall, racing around his room.

The faint sound of a displacement of air draws Sam's attention back to his own simulation, and he ducks instantly, glancing up as he does so and watching as a pale orange arm flies over his head. Sam spins the angel blade around as he straightens, stabbing the sword straight through the angel's chest—and noting as he does so that the feeling of pushing the blade through the hard light hologram is surprisingly realistic. The angel—the same carbon copy of Henry Travers from the Avengers Tower simulations—looks down at its chest before dissolving into little cubes that pile on the floor and disappear. Expertly spinning the angel blade again, Sam grins, yellow eyes glowing.

He's spent his entire life running away from hunting, only to be drawn back into the life by circumstances beyond his control. Sam has never felt like he belonged in the hunting world, never thought that it was his path. He still believes that. But that philosophical debate about nature and nurture is alive in Sam—he hates hunting, has always hated hunting, and yet he returns to it easily in an instant, like riding a bike or tying his shoes. Hunting is in Sam's blood—as much as he hates to admit it—but it's also how he was raised. Sam lived and breathed hunting not just after he learned the truth about the supernatural but long before then. Sam's life revolved around monsters from the moment his mother died when he was six months old—and even now, despite his best efforts to leave, Sam is irreversibly connected to the supernatural world.

And no matter how hard he tries to leave, and no matter how long he stays away, hunting will always come to Sam as naturally as breathing.

A faint gust of wind—Sam still hasn't figured out how Tony managed to incorporate the sound of angels' wings into his simulations—alerts Sam to the arrival of another foe, followed shortly by another. Sam straightens, turning around to see two more angels—one appears to be based on the version of Satan from the TV show  _Lucifer,_ and the other is most likely a reference to a movie or show that Sam hasn't seen—advancing on him. Sam considers teleporting or using telekinesis—his abilities are, after all, a permanent part of his arsenal—but quickly decides against it. This isn't the time for Darkside.

If Sam is going to teach the Avengers how to survive in a world where their powers don't matter, he has to remember how to operate without his.

One of the angels pulls out its own angel blade, and Sam grins, parrying two attacks and using the angel's momentum—and his personal knowledge of how the weapon works—to trap the blade on the third try, hooking his own sword on the hilt of the angel's. When the angel struggles to free its weapon, Sam uses its momentum against it and sends the blade through the angel's stomach. The angel dissolves but the blade remains, and Sam grabs it, turning on the second angel—the one that looks like the guy from  _Lucifer_.

The angel grins, eyeing Sam's twin blades and then producing two of its own. Sam returns the smile—Tony's AIs are absolutely incredible—and steps back into a defensive stance, waiting for the angel to make the first move. The two circle for a while, each looking for a weakness to take advantage of. After a minute, the angel finally attacks, a straight jab that Sam easily avoids. Sam counters with an even slice that cuts open the angel's sleeve but doesn't break the skin, and the angel frowns, adjusting its grip slightly. Sam hears the arrival of four more angels and darts to his left, forcing the angel to spin around and put its back to its allies. Sam takes in the four newcomers and frowns. This simulation just got a bit more complicated.

"Five at once, JARVIS?" Sam asks, keeping his eyes on the angel with the twin blades. The other four have yet to draw their weapons, merely taking up positions behind and to the sides of the  _Lucifer_ angel.

"The simulation judges your abilities and responds accordingly," JARVIS explains. "I believe it thought you needed more of a challenge."

"Well, I've always loved a challenge." Sam shakes his head. He actually hates challenges—the things that challenge him have a reputation of being world-ending—but this, this is the kind of challenge Sam can see himself enjoying.

Sam steps forward, and angels blades appear in the hands of the four new angels at once. Sam grins, flipping his real blade in the air and catching it backward.

Yeah, this is going to be fun.

The  _Lucifer_ angel strides forward, and Sam dodges two attacks, delivering one of his own that hits the angel it the shoulder. It drops the blade in that hand but continues to fight, and when Sam disarms the other sword, sending it flying across the room, the angel switches to hand-to-hand combat. A hand grabs Sam's shoulder, and Sam spins around, grabbing the wrist of the attacking angel as it brings its blade down toward Sam's chest. The angel continues to push, and Sam releases his hold, letting momentum carry the angel's sword into its own chest. The angel dissolves and the other four attack as one. Sam throws his hologram blade and catches one of the angels between the eyes, sending it down instantly. The blade dissolves with the angel, leaving Sam with one weapon and three enemies. The three angels advance as once, and Sam is forced into a defensive position, blocking hits rather than giving them. At some point, Sam's angel blade is knocked from his hand.

Right on cue, two more angels appear, blades at the ready.

One of the angels knees Sam in the stomach, and he grunts, doubling over. An angel takes that as an invitation and runs forward, and Sam glances up to find the perfect opportunity staring him in the face.

When the angel reaches Sam, Sam disarms it and stabs it in the chest with its own weapon, pulling the blade out and continuing forward without breaking his side. Two more angels attack from Sam's left and right, and he stops at the last second, letting them run into each other. Sam grabs one angel blae while the two are recovering and steps in between them, stabbing them simultaneously up through the chins. The last two angels hang back warily as their allies dissolve away, and Sam grins. He advances slowly, listening carefully—and sure enough, another gust of wind precedes the arrival of two more hostiles behind him.

Without even turning around, Sam stabs his pair of blades directly back, and the orange cubes that fall near his feet tell Sam that one of the angels is dead. One of the two in front of Sam advances and Sam gets it in the throat, then turns to the side, eyeing the two remaining angels. After a minute, they approach as one, avoiding Sam's attacks and sending both of Sam's blades clattering to the floor, where they dissolve away. Sam scowls, looking back and forth between the two angels. After a minute, he decides to attack the one on his left—the _Lucifer_ angel.

It's the wrong choice.

Sam has barely turned to face the  _Lucifer_ angel when a pair of strong arms are wrapping around his chest, holding him in place while the  _Lucifer_ angel approaches, blade at the ready. Thinking fast—and unwilling to start using his abilities this late in the game—Sam suddenly bends over, snapping the angel holding him over his head. The two angels hit each other, and Sam lunges for his lost angel blade, scooping up the silver sword and throwing it as hard as he can. The blade goes through the throat of the angel who was holding Sam, and the _Lucifer_ angel climbs to his feet, smirking. Sam returns the grin, running straight at the angel. Sam grabs the angel blade as he passes it and spins around, stabbing the advancing angel right between the eyes.

When the last body falls, the yellow in Sam's vision fades away, and JARVIS's voice fills the room.

"Simulation over," JARVIS announces, and Sam flips his angel blade, glancing at the glass wall as he catches it—and stiffening when he realizes that he's gained an audience.

"How long have they been watching me, JARVIS?" Sam asks, eyeing the group curiously. Everyone who was in the range when Sam started the simulation is standing outside the window, varying degrees of shock on their faces. Clint is the only one who has the decency to look guilty about being caught.

"Sir has been watching the entire time," JARVIS says. "He called the others over when the group of four angels appeared."

Sam shakes his head. "Of course he did." He says, heading for the door. Sam ignores the group of Avengers, heading for the weapons rack and the duffel bag he left beside it.

"Damn," Clint says, and Sam turns and discovers that the group followed him over. Natasha and Bucky still have guns in their hands, which leads Sam to believe that he had a very eager audience. "I had no idea you could fight like that."

"You're pretty good with that blade," Tony says. "How did you manage to catch that other one?" Sam nods, flipping the blade in his hand a few times.

"I first used one of these back in 2010 or so," Sam explains. "When you're fighting supernatural creatures, you have to be prepared to use all sorts of strange weapons because there might be only one thing in the world that can kill them. This is one of those things."

"What is it?" Tony asks. "You told me that angels carried them, but what exactly does it do?"

"It kills them," Sam says. "This right here is the only thing in the world that can kill an angel, or at least, the only thing that a human can use. It's called an angel blade, and every single angel comes with one. Angel blades are also one of the few weapons that kill demons, which makes them a pretty useful addition to a hunter's arsenal." Sam sets down his blade and pulls the other two out of his duffel bag. "The only way to get your hands on an angel blade is to kill the angel it belongs to. Between Dean and I, we've collected maybe thirty of these, but we tend to lose them in fights. Demons like to take them, and so do angels. But I've almost always got several on hand."

"How many angels have you killed?" Steve asks, clearly worried.

"Not sure," Sam admits. "I've lost count, but probably somewhere in the upper hundreds." The Avengers look shocked, and not in a good way, so Sam hastens to explain himself. "Angels are not guys in all white with fluffy wings and halos. They're warriors, and they're imperfect ones. They fight. They fail. They feel. And there's nothing they hate more than me."

"You?" Bucky asks skeptically, and Sam nods.

"Most angels aren't big fans of humans to begin with," Sam explains. "They hate demons even more. And me, well, I'm both." Sam's eyes flash yellow as he speaks. "I've had a bit of demon in me pretty much my entire life, and when I met my first angel, he told me that that little bit of demon was enough to keep me locked out of Heaven for all eternity. That little bit of demon blood was a one-way ticket to Hell. A year later, that angel was one of my closest friends, and we learned that I had a place in Heaven. I guess he was wrong, but most of his friends still don't agree." Sam tosses one of the spare angel blades to Natasha, who catches it. "When Dean and I moved to Lebanon, we found a sparring room in our new place and started practicing. I know everything there is to know about this blade because there's a species out there who come equipped with it, and most of them want me dead. It's a matter of survival."

"That's..."

"Insane." Bucky finishes Natasha's thought, and Sam shrugs.

"That's life," Sam says. "Well, my life, at least." Sam shakes his head, nodding to Natasha, who holsters her gun and holds up the angel blade. Sam grabs the other two blades and stands. "I'm supposed to be teaching you how to use hunters' weapons, right?" Sam asks, and several of the Avengers nod. "Well, this is your first lesson. Angel blades." The Avengers all watch Sam expectantly, and Sam grins.

Dean always used to tell Sam that he'd make a good teacher one day. Sam never believed him—to this day, he thinks Dean would be much better at the job. But today, Sam has to be the best teacher he can be. Because these lessons are life and death.

And Sam can't bear to lose another life.


	11. Chapter 11

"Angel blades are probably the most powerful weapon a hunter can have in their arsenal," Sam says, walking over to one of the sparring mats. He doesn't need to teach the Avengers how to fight with his weapons—for the most part, they already know how to use daggers and guns. What the Avengers need to learn is what makes Sam's weapons different from what they're used to.

"Why?" Tony asks as the Avengers gather around the mat.

"Well, like I said earlier, angel blades are the only thing in the world that kills angels, and they can also kill demons." Sam tosses one of his blades in the air and catches it again. "This one weapon can kill the two most powerful supernatural creatures in the world, which makes it invaluable. But it doesn't quite work the same way as a conventional weapon."

Sam gestures for Natasha to step forward. When she does, he taps her forehead with the blade in his right hand and her chest with the sword in his left. "A good rule of thumb is to always aim to kill," Sam explains. "Head and chest are the best places to shoot for. If you stab or cut a human, you'll hurt them, catch them off-guard, maybe even slow them down. That won't work on angels or demons. If you hit them somewhere nonlethal, it will be like you didn't hit them at all. They heal faster than we do, and they won't die of infection or blood loss. So if you're ever in a situation where you have to kill an angel or a demon, aim for the head or the heart."

Sam hesitates, looking around at all of the shocked expressions he's faced with. "Angels and demons aren't human," Sam says after a minute. "But they possess humans. Every time you deal any blow to an angel or demon, you're probably hurting the vessel more than the monster itself. A lot of the time, it won't matter. Demons' vessels are often injured so badly by the time they encounter a hunter that, should the demon be expelled, the vessel would die almost immediately. And angels are so powerful that they tend to kill their vessels on accident, burning them from the inside out." Sam sighs, biting the inside of his cheek. "But if you want to avoid lethality, and you're in a situation where you can afford to avoid it, there are other ways."

"Like what?" Steve asks, eagerly jumping at the opportunity to avoid taking innocent lives. Sam remembers when that was his primary goal.

He remembers when it stopped being achievable.

'Well, traps are the best thing to start with." Sam says. "You can trap a demon in a devil's trap, which is what we did with Norman Whitmore. He's in a devil's trap, which means that he can't step outside of it while in his vessel, or outside of it, for that matter. The same applies to angels if you can get them inside a ring of holy fire."

"Which is...?" Tony trails off, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

"A ring of holy oil, set on fire once the angel steps inside of it," Sam says. "Angels in a ring of holy fire can't fly away, and demons in a devil's trap can't teleport out. Either way, you've trapped them until you decide to let them go by putting out the fire or scratching out part of the trap. That gives you the time to get rid of them without stabbing them with one of these." Sam nods to his angel blades, frowning. "For demons, it's pretty simple. You can exorcise them, forcibly removing the demon from its vessel and sending it back to Hell. It's far from a permanent solution because demons can get our of Hell pretty quickly, but at the very least you've saved the vessel. Unfortunately, it gets a lot more complicated with angels."

"Why is that?" Natasha asks.

"Well, you can't really force an angel to leave its vessel," Sam explains. "Angels have to ask permission to possess someone, which that their vessel must agree to host them. You can use a sigil drawn in \blood to banish an angel to Heaven for a while, but they'll take their vessel with them. Angels' vessels are stuck until the angels leave of their own volition."

Sensing that the Avengers will continue to question Sam about this subject for a while if he lets them, Sam decides it's time to change gears. He takes the angel blade from Natasha and heads back to his duffel bag, dumping all three blades inside and bringing the entire bag back over to the sparring mat. Sam sets the bag down and rifles through it for a moment then pulls out a handful of salt rounds and a few iron bullets—as well as some silver ones, which he spots mixed in a moment later.

"These are pretty self-explanatory," Sam says, holding out the ammunition. "Salt rounds are fired just like any other shotgun round, and they behave like them, too. Iron bullets are standard as well. Both are used mostly for ghosts. Firing either at an approaching spirit will make it dissipate, if only temporarily. If you make a circle of salt and get inside it, a ghost can't touch you."

"Why salt and iron?" Tony asks. "Why are those things that can hurt a ghost?"

"I honestly have no idea," Sam admits. "I've looked into it before, but as far as I can tell, someone figured out they worked and passed it around. It's all lore, old stories of something working that everyone else just accepts." Sam drops the salt rounds and iron bullets back into the bag and holds up a single silver bullet. "Silver bullets are the only thing that kills werewolves. All you need to know about them is that you have to aim for the heart because that's your only kill shot."

"Are werewolves actually giant wolves that walk on two legs?" Bucky asks, and Sam shakes his head.

"They're human enough.' Sam says. "Their eyes change, and they grow a bit of extra hair, but nothing like the levels in pop culture. The main thing that happens is their fingernails grow into long claws, and they get a wolf's teeth. A werewolf will try to maul you, just like any other wild animal. They just happen to have super strength." Sam drops the silver bullet into his bag and pulls out the machete. "Oh, and after a werewolf kills you, it will eat your heart," Sam adds as an afterthought. Several of the Avengers wrinkle their noses, and Sam shakes his head.

"Is that how you find monsters to hunt?" Wilson asks. "You look for deaths?"

"For the most part, yeah," Sam says. "We look for a string of animal attacks where the hearts were missing to find werewolves. For vampires, it's exsanguination." Sam holds up the machete. "Vampires look totally normal at first glance. Their fangs are a secondary set of teeth that slide over their human pair when they need them. Long, pointed, and extremely dangerous."

"I'm guessing the stake to the heart doesn't work on them," Bucky says, nodding to the machete in Sam's hand.

"A wooden stake will kill a Norse god, but not a vampire." Sam grabs one of the wooden stakes to show the team. "In case you ever need to kill an Asgardian for some reason." Sam drops the stake and picks up the vial of dead man's blood. "Vampires can be killed exclusively through decapitation. A machete is the most popular choice for vampire hunters, but I've killed vampires with a shotgun blast to the head, slamming their skulls enough times with a lamp, and ever a razor wire garrote, once." Sam wrinkles his nose. "This is dead man's blood." Sam continues after a second, holding up the vial. "It can be used to incapacitate a vampire if it gets into their bloodstream. A lot of hunters carry syringes of the stuff, and others will put it on the blades of their machetes so that if they miss the head, they might get the dead man's blood into the vampire's bloodstream."

"How exactly do you get dead man's blood?" Steve asks. "It comes from an actual dead person, right?"

"Yeah," Sam replies. "Hunters are around a lot of dead bodies, so it usually isn't hard to stock up." Sam puts the dead man's blood and machete back in the duffel and grabs the final item—the holy water.

"What's that?" Tony asks, and Sam delicately passes the vial over, recalling his last encounter with the liquid.

"Holy water," Sam says, and the Avengers clearly pick up on Sam's hesitation because their curiosity only grows. Tony, upon seeing Sam's discomfort, takes the holy water and pulls it closer to his chest. "It's probably the only thing in the world that can hurt a demon without damaging its vessel."

"What does it do?" Tony asks, examining the vial.

"It burns like a bitch," Sam says. "If you splash a demon with holy water, it will feel like they've had acid thrown on them. It's actually a customary greeting between hunters to either splash them with holy water or slip some into their drinks because holy water is totally harmless to humans."

"Except for you." Tony guesses, and Sam nods.

"I discovered last year that I adopted that particular trait of demons," Sam says. "When I first met Claire Novak, she saw my eyes and assumed the worst. The holy water felt like it was melting my skin, and it's not a feeling I'm planning on reliving anytime soon." Sam shakes his head. "Nonetheless, it will be useful for all of us to start carrying some. Tony said that Clint has some holy water arrows, but just a vial like that one is useful because all you have to do is unscrew the lid and shake some onto an incoming demon."

"As long as we don't hit you," Steve says, and Sam shrugs.

"It hurts, yeah, but I'll be fine," Sam says. "I've dealt with a lot worse than that before. I've been literally set on fire before." Sam gets some horrified looks with that remark and shakes his head again. "My point is if you need to disable a demon and I'm in your way, do it anyway. Avoiding my pain isn't worth one of you getting killed."

"The same is true in reverse," Tony says. "And I don't mean it literally." Sam hesitates, frowning. It's pretty apparent what Tony is saying—he doesn't want Sam withholding information because it might hurt the Avengers emotionally. Which, of course, is precisely what Sam has been doing.

But Sam can't risk telling the Avengers about his visions. Not until he understands exactly what he's seeing, and why. Why that boy who looks all too familiar is dead. Why Penumbra is there. Why the Avengers stand by and watch Sam die.

Why Clint shoots Sam in the stomach with a holy water arrow.

"Yeah," Sam says lamely. Tony frowns but nods, walking forward and putting the holy water back in Sam's duffel bag.

"I think that's enough instruction for today," Steve says, stepping forward as well. He grabs the two wooden stakes, the three angel blades, and the machete and passes them out to the rest of the Avengers, keeping one angel blade for himself. "Partner up and practice sparring." Clint and Natasha, who got the wooden stakes, pair up and head for one of the other mats to practice with them. Wilson and Bucky, who both have angel blades, pair up as well, leaving Tony and Steve.

Tony stares incredulously at the machete Steve handed him. "What exactly am I supposed to do with this?" Tony asks, and Steve laughs.

"Add it to that nanotech suit you've been working on," Steve says. "Just in case." Tony nods, exiting the gym, and Steve turns to Sam, tossing the angel blade in his hand in the air and catching it. "We know that holy water hurts you. What about the rest of the things you told us about demons? We need to know what to avoid using around you."

"Well, devil's traps don't work on me," Sam says. "I can walk through them with no problem. I can also cross salt lines, but I don't know if pure salt would hurt me if I came into contact with me, since that also burns demons. Same goes for iron. And, uh, that." Sam gestures to the angel blade.

"This?" Steve repeats, holding up the blade.

"Angel blades seem to burn demons when they're cut by one," Sm explains. "I'm not sure exactly what they're feeling, but it definitely hurts more than being cut by a normal knife. I'm not sure if the same is true of me, and I'm not particularly inclined to find out."

"Well, that's a start," Steve says. "I'm sure Tony can help us test some of those things in a controlled environment."

"Later," Sam says. "For now, why don't we just spar a bit?" Steve nods, dropping the angel blade back into the duffel bag.

"Hand to hand," Steve says, carrying the duffel bag over to the edge of the sparring ring and picking up a roll of tape. "I don't want to risk cutting you with a weapon that could hurt you." Sam smiles, taking the tape when Stee offers it and wrapping his hands.

Sometimes Sam forgets that the Avengers really do care about him. That they want him to be safe, to not be hurt. It's a refreshing feeling, being cared about.

The least Sam can do in return is trust them with the truth. At least some of them. At least one of them.

One person at a time.


	12. Chapter 12

 On Sunday morning, Sam finds himself sitting on the couch in his suite, staring at the wall.

The designated time for him and Tony to leave has come and gone, but as of yet, none of the Avengers have come to see where Sam is. In fact, Sam hasn't seen any of them all day—he skipped breakfast after a repeat of his haunting vision, and he's spent the entire morning since mulling over what he saw. The arrow, in particular, is stuck in Sam's brain, the unique weapon unusual enough to only have one possible origin.

But what could Sam ever do to make Clint—one of the first Avengers to trust him, to befriend him—turn against him? _Kill_  him?

And then there's the matter of the boy. Sam has yet to see his face, but in his last couple of visions, the boy's head has been obscured by Tony's body as Tony kneels beside him. That display of emotion from the normally stoic Tony gives Sam a pretty good idea of whose death precedes his, and it's not something Sam wants to think about at length.

Although, as much as Sam hates to admit it, killing Peter Parker may be one of the only things that could so rapidly turn the Avengers against Sam.

A voice from the doorway pulls Sam abruptly from his thoughts. "What's got you thinking so hard?"

Sam looks up to see Bucky standing in front of him, just outside of the suite. Sam gestures for Bucky to come in and Bucky obeys, stepping inside and shutting the door behind himself.

"Come on, kid," Bucky says, sitting down next to Sam.

"I'm not a kid," Sam replies. "But Peter is."

"That's what this is about?" Bucky asks. "Peter Parker?" Sam nods, recalling what he saw when Penumbra attacked him.

"When Penumbra tried to kill me, I couldn't touch them," Sam says. "My telekinesis was useless. _I_ was useless. But Peter's webs stuck, if only for a second. Saved my life."

"Tony said you've been avoiding Peter," Bucky says, and Sam sighs and nods again.

"I've had another recurring vision lately," Sam admits, swallowing hard. "Penumbra is in it, and I get stabbed in the stomach at the end." Sam declines to mention the arrow, at least until he knows more. "It always starts with a body, of a boy. I haven't seen his face yet, at least that I remember, but I think it might be Peter."

"You think Penumbra kills him?" Bucky asks.

"Maybe," Sam says. "Maybe _I_ do. Either way, I don't want Peter getting hurt. I don't want _anyone_ getting hurt."

"Distancing yourself from Peter isn't going to change the future, kid, you know that," Bucky says.

"Only changing the vision will, I know," Sam replies. "The problem is, the kid's already dead when the vision starts. I can't see what happens before his death, which means I can't change it. Only my own." Sam hesitates. "And I know I can't avoid Peter forever. If only because he's the only one of us who might actually have a chance of trapping Penumbra."

"Peter can handle it, kid, as long as he's got your support," Bucky says. "The kid can bench-press a bus."

"In my world, that doesn't mean much," Sam says with a half-hearted laugh. "I know that Peter is strong and smart and powerful. But he's going up against something he's never fought before. Something he isn't prepared for. You _all_ are."

"Then train us," Bucky says firmly. "Teach us how to protect ourselves, kid. You're the expert on this one."

"But I'm not." Sam insists. "I know next to nothing about daevas. They're incredibly rare, I've only encountered them once, and that was over a decade ago. I don't know how to fight Penumbra, Bucky. I _can't_  teach you to protect yourselves if I can't even protect you."

"It will be alright, kid," Bucky says, putting his metal hand on Sam's shoulder. "Protecting us ain't your job, you know."

"I'm the expert. You said so yourself." Sam shakes his head, standing abruptly. "If I can't protect you, who will?"

"No one," Bucky says, standing and walking around Sam to look into his eyes. "And that's alright. You can't save everyone, kid, and I think you know that."

"I've lost too many people, Bucky," Sam says, shaking his head. "There are so many people I couldn't save, so many people who gave their lives for me. I didn't deserve it then, and I still don't." Sam bites the inside of his cheek. "I can't lose anyone else. I can't."

"You won't," Bucky says firmly. "You won't lose anyone. We're all gonna die one of these days, but that ain't your cross to bear, kid. No matter what happens to us, our deaths will not be on your conscience." Sam smiles weakly at this.

"You know, Tony said almost the exact same thing a couple of weeks ago." Sam comments and Bucky returns the smile.

"Stark is smarter than I give him credit for, then," Bucky says, glancing at the door. "Speaking of Stark, I'm thinking it's time for you and him to be heading home." Sam nods, heading for the door 

He's only made it a few steps when Bucky's metal hand grabs Sam's shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

"Before you go, I want to make sure that you know one thing," Bucky says. Sam turns around, nodding slowly. "Avoiding people ain't no way to live, kid. You can protect Peter far better from right beside him than you ever could from a distance." Bucky shakes his head, hand falling to his side. "You aren't going to kill Peter, Sam. The closer he is to you, the safer he'll be."

Sam shakes his head, grabbing his duffel bag from the floor and walking out of the suite. He doesn't look back, but he knows that Bucky must follow him out because Steve and Tony, who are waiting at the end of the hall, both look behind Sam and nod before they meet Sam's eyes.

"You good?" Steve asks, and Sam just nods, walking past the two Avengers and into the lounge, where the rest of the team is waiting. Sam smiles to each Avenger in turn but finds himself faltering when his gaze lands on Clint, who frowns. Sam knows that Clint has no ill will towards him—at least, right now—but he can't separate the Clint sitting before him from the one who must have shot him in his vision. The one who will kill him, sometime in the future.

That's not the Clint Sam knows now, but it will be.

"Don't be a stranger, Stark," Steve says to Tony as they rejoin the group. Bucky leans against the back of an empty chair and Tony grins, shaking his head.

"Same goes for you, Cap," Tony says. "You lot need to come by the Tower more often. Sam and I could use the company, and you know Pepper would love to see you."

"Will do," Steve says. "Whenever Buck has court, we'll make an effort to stop by."

"I'm going to hold you to that," Tony says. "JARVIS, remind me to hold him to that. And remind Cap to make good on his promise."

"Will do, Sir," JARVIS says.

"Now then, I say we hit the road," Tony says, nodding to Sam. Sam turns, wordlessly heading for the door. He can feel the eyes on his back as he exits the room, but no one comments until the door has shut behind him.

"Is Sam okay?" Natasha asks quietly, her voice just loud enough for Sam to hear through the door.

"He's worried about Penumbra," Bucky replies at the same volume. "Worried that one of us will get hurt, or worse."

"Well, we won't," Tony says. "I'm going to head out. You guys keep an eye out for Penumbra on the cameras. I reconfigured them to track any weird shadows, so if you get an alert, let me know."

"Roger that," Steve says. 

Sam steps away from the door just before it opens, and Tony steps outside, shutting the door with his foot as he digs through his pockets for his keys.

"Let's go," Tony says, nodding to his car and popping the trunk. Sam tosses his duffel in the trunk and walks around the car, climbing into the passenger seat and leaning back.

Sam went to bed late last night and woke up only a couple of hours later with a scream on his lips. With the image of the bloody arrow burned into his mind, Sam was too shaken to attempt to go back to sleep. He wasn't bothered by his lack of sleep until now, the familiarity of the leather seats and roaring engine lulling Sam into the darkness. Tony turns on the radio, but it doesn't take long for Sam's eyes to slip closed.

The next thing he knows, he's standing in a parking lot.

_There are four buildings around the lot, one on each side, like walls of a cage holding Sam in. They're all the same color, the dirty light gray of old concrete, tinged yellow by Sam's vision. There are no bodies in any of the buildings—in fact, the only soul Sam can see is a dim, crumpled shape lying on the ground a few feet away from him._

_Sam watches, frozen in shock, as the light fades from the body, revealing the slack expression and clouded eyes of Peter Parker. There's a red stain on his chest, dark and fresh and still spreading, even in death. Sam only meets Peter's eyes for a moment before Tony is suddenly standing between them. Tony doesn't spare Sam a glance, all of his attention on Peter as he drops to his knees and cries out, grabbing Peter's hand and squeezing it tight as if he'll be able to bring Peter back to life with just his touch._

_Sam's world skips a beat, and the next thing he sees is Bucky sprinting toward him, a look of horror on his face as an arrow plunges into Sam's stomach. Sam doesn't scream, doesn't cry out, just looks down to see his hands wrapped around the shaft of the arrow. Sam pulls the arrow out of his stomach and collapses to the ground, only for Bucky to catch him at the last second_  

_This time, it isn't one soul that fades but all of them. Every soul Sam can see dims and blinks out of existence, revealing the stone faces of the Avengers who gather around as Sam breathes his last._

Sam jerks awake with a start, hands flying to his stomach, reaching for a wound that isn't there. Tony frowns, turning off the radio and raising an eyebrow.

"I'm fine," Sam says breathlessly, shaking his head. "Fine. Just a nightmare."  Tony doesn't appear to believe Sam, but he doesn't argue, either. After a minute, Tony turns the radio back on.

The rest of the ride is spent in silence. Sam doesn't close his eyes longer than a second until he can see the glow of Avengers Tower in the distance.


	13. Chapter 13

The last thing on Sam's mind when he takes the elevator down to the R&D floor of Avengers Tower is high school. It's been years, after all, since Sam himself attended such a place, and his task from Tony—get a specific metal tool from the particular scientist who 'borrowed' it—and the reason behind it—Sam's prosthetic leg, which is currently disassembled on one of the tables in Tony's lab—are urgent enough to push pretty much anything else from Sam's mind. Of course, if it were last year or several years before that, Sam wouldn't even need to think about high school. Today, though, is a different story.

Because today, Sam realizes when he sees a group of lanky teens and a bored teacher with a familiar emblem on his chest being led in Sam's direction by a tour guide, is the day that the advanced physics class at Midtown School of Science and Technology gets to take a tour of Stark Industries's research facilities.

The thought that someone should have warned Sam about this trip at some point has barely crossed his mind before his eyes—which upon seeing the group began to almost unconsciously scan them for weapons—land on a small boy with curly brown hair standing at the back of the group with two other kids, an even shorter boy with straight black hair and a tall, skinny girl who looks relatively unimpressed with the state-of-the-art motion capture system the class is currently being shown—although the corners of her mouth do lift slightly when the guide mentions the device's potential use in the art industry.

Sam briefly considers returning to the elevator and staying away from the R&D floor until the teens leave, but his mind stalls when he tries to come up with an excuse better than 'I didn't want the kids to see me.' Sam doesn't even begin to consider telling Tony that it's not the fact that there are children in his path so much as the fact that one of those children is Peter—it's hard enough for Sam to admit his fear of hurting the sunshiny teen to himself, much less to the kid's mentor. Unable to find a valid explanation for the extra hour it will probably take to get the tool if he leaves now—and fully aware that the elevator behind him has long since closed—Sam sighs deeply, resigning himself to his fate and beginning his steady—or at least, as steady as one can be while moving forward on one leg and crutches—march toward the desk of one Dr. Patel, a chemical engineer who, according to Tony, has a habit of borrowing various devices and tools from his coworkers, team members, and bosses without permission—a trait that Sam is sure would get him fired if he worked anywhere but here.

It takes Sam upwards of five minutes to reach the office that belongs to Patel, thanks to a combination of factors including but not limited to the distance between Patel's office and the elevator, a small explosion at a lab station directly on Sam's originally intended path, and Sam's instinctive need to stay as far away from the visiting school group as he possibly can. When he does arrive at the office, Sam breathes a sigh of relief and takes a moment to frown at the glass walls—who put glass walls in an area prone to minor explosions, anyway?—before balancing on his left leg and using his right crutch to push the door open.

"Dr. Patel?" Sam asks, looking around the unsurprisingly messy lab. The man in question—tall, slightly heavyset, Indian, and overwhelmingly non-threatening despite the blowtorch in his hand—pokes his head out from behind a pile of metal that is probably not just a pile of metal and smiles widely, beckoning Sam forward. Sam follows the scientist's instructions cautiously, avoiding the mess of tools and discarded projects that litter the floor as the door swings closed behind him, shutting with a soft click and abruptly cutting off all noise from outside. Sam allows his astonishment to flash across his face for just a moment—while Sam's enhanced hearing is far less potent than Matt's, he's still gotten used to hearing the chaos of the hundreds of inhabitants of the tower almost constantly—before carefully schooling his expression into one that Dean once called his 'FBI face.' Sam considers it professional.

"Sam, how can I help you?" Dr. Patel chirps, and Sam smiles, holding out the note Tony gave him—Sam couldn't remember the name of the required tool if he tried—and taking a moment to reflect on the strange world he now lives in where everyone knows his name. Thanks to the news coverage of his trial, as well as the high level of headline-worthy material surrounding what came before and after it, the entire world is now intimately familiar with Sam's face. He can't step outside in New York without someone recognizing him, and despite Tony's reassurances that Sam's story will soon fade to the background—especially in light of the trial of the Winter Soldier—Sam is confident that he'll never regain the anonymity that he utilized so often as a hunter.

The difference between the employees at Avengers Tower and the rest of the world, Sam can't help but note, is that where the general public refers to Sam as either 'terrorist' or, more often, 'Mr. Winchester', either Tony or Pepper expressly ordered their employees to call Sam by his first name—a decision that, however strange it may make Sam feel, also makes him extremely grateful.

"Ah yes, I had forgotten that I borrowed this," Patel says, breaking Sam out of his thoughts. Sam looks down to see a silver... something—it looks kind of like a screwdriver, but not one that Sam has ever seen before—in the doctor's outstretched hand. Sam takes the tool gratefully, expressing his thanks repeatedly as he carefully stows Tony's requested device in his pocket and turns toward the door. "Give Tony my most sincere apologies." Dr. Patel says, and Sam pauses in the doorway, nodding to Patel before exiting the office.

Sam heads to the elevator the same way that he came in, distracted by the fact that Dr. Patel calls him "Sam" and calls Tony "Tony." It's odd, Sam thinks, that an employee would refer to their boss by his first name, but then again, Stark Industries is far from a normal place of work. Nothing about Avengers Tower is normal.

It's strange how comforting that is.

"Yo, Penis Parker, if you're really an intern here, I'm sure you'd have no problem showing us where you work, right?" Sam stops in his tracks when he hears the voice, the mocking tone all too familiar and the intended recipient of the taunt all too obvious. While the derogatory nickname is fairly unimpressive—Sam forgot that anything remotely dirty is hilarious when you're a teenager—it appears to have its intended effect, because when Sam turns around to look at the school group a few cubicles away, he finds Peter's face red and downcast, while the kids on either side of him—the boy and girl from before—both look furious.

"Peter can't show us his lab because it's on a restricted level." The smaller boy says bravely, planting his hands on his hips and staring down a taller boy with longer black hair. Sam assumes that this kid is the bully, and makes a mental note to inform Tony of Peter's less-than-kind classmate.

"Yeah, right." The bully says. "And Sam Winchester is innocent." Sam cocks his head to one side at this, surprised to find himself being used as a metaphor—it's a level of twisted fame he didn't need nor want. "I bet you don't even work here. You've just been lying this whole time to get girls." Peter's red face goes even redder and Sam, upon realizing that the teacher and the majority of the school group have moved on to another cubicle and are currently oblivious to the situation at hand, decides it's time for someone to intervene. Too bad that someone apparently has to be him.

"Hey, Peter!" Sam calls, making his way over to the pair. All four teens' eyes widen, all surprised to see Sam—but for several different reasons. Peter is clearly surprised not to see Sam but to see Sam on crutches, one pant leg tied in a knot just above the knee and no prosthetic in sight. The smaller boy to Peter's right seems surprised to see Sam Winchester announcing a clear relationship to Peter. The girl on Peter's left appears surprised mostly by Sam's smile, her eyes lingering on his face for just a little bit longer than necessary. And the bully is the most surprised, but his shock seems to stem from fear as his face pales exponentially the closer Sam gets to the group.

"Hi, Sam," Peter says shyly, looking up at Sam when he stops beside the bully, who quickly steps away. "What're you doing here? And what happened to your leg?"

"I'm actually here to retrieve a tool for Mr. Stark." Sam holds up the device he got from Dr. Patel earlier. "The ankle joint on the prosthetic broke again, and halfway through fixing it, Stark realized he didn't have this." Sam spins on his left leg, facing the other three members of Peter's little group. "Who are your friends?"

"Oh!" Peter exclaims, blushing. "This is Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones, and, uh, and Flash Thompson." Sam turns his attention, not to the bully—Flash Thompson, he notes—but to the small boy and tall girl who he recalls Tony having mentioned before as Peter's two closest friends.

"It's nice to meet you, Ned, Michelle." Sam tucks one crutch under his arm and holds out his hand. Ned is quick to shake it enthusiastically, but Michelle is more hesitant, taking the time to stare directly into Sam's soul—at least, that's how it feels to Sam—before finally grudgingly accepting Sam's offer of a handshake. "Well, I'd better get this back to Stark so he can put my leg back together again." Sam comments, grabbing his crutch and nodding to the four students. "Next time you're here for your internship, Peter, why don't you take a look at the ankle joint? Maybe you can figure out what's wrong with it."

"Of course, Sam," Peter says immediately, grinning. Sam starts walking away but pauses, turning back around and fixing Flash with his most menacing glare. The kid's face—previously filled with glee at the fact that he wasn't caught in his bullying—goes white and he backpedals into the wall of a cubicle, sending a stack of papers to the floor in a flurry.

"If you ever bully Peter again, you'll be answering to me," Sam says sternly, counting on his expression of pure anger to get his point across—as well as the veiled threat of what exactly the consequences will be. Flash nods stiffly, frozen ramrod straight in the path of Sam's glare. Without another word, Sam turns back around, heading back to the elevator.

"That was so cool!" Ned exclaims loudly, and Sam smirks, pressing the elevator button and waiting for one to arrive. "He's, like, so badass!"

"He's a terrorist!" Flash argues. "He's terrifying!"

"I thought he looked nice," Michelle replies cooly. "I think he just didn't like you, Flash. Wonder why that could be." Sam's smile widens when Flash lets out a worried squeak, likely a reaction to a motion made by one of Peter's friends. When the elevator arrives, Sam steps into it, turning around to see that Flash has disappeared and Ned and Michelle are standing protectively at Peter's sides, the worry in their expressions clear even from the elevator.

"What floor, young sir?" JARVIS asks, closing the elevator doors.

"Tony's lab," Sam says distractedly, picturing the trio of teens in his mind. He's going to have to tell Tony about Flash Thompson, but perhaps including some praise for Peter's friends will soften the blow somewhat.

Peter has found himself some good friends, Sam decides. Hopefully, he'll be able to keep them around for a long time.

And hopefully, Peter will be around for a long time, too.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I just wanted to let everyone know that on Thursday, to celebrate two years since I started posting Escaping the Dark Side, I added a new chapter. If you've ever wondered what some of the Avengers' reactions might have been to learning the truth about the supernatural, be sure to check it out!
> 
> I hope you enjoy today's update!

The sound of metal hitting flesh echoes through the gym as Bucky lands a solid hit on Steve's upper arm. Steve backpedals a few feet, rubbing his arm and scowling as Bucky rotates his shoulder, a grin stretching across his face. Sam watches from the bench as Steve suddenly lurches forward, fist connecting with Bucky's chest.

The Avengers have made it a point to stop by the Tower whenever they can—which so far means twice a week after Bucky's court dates. They're usually only around long enough to grab a drink and catch up—and to receive the few updates on Penumbra that Sam and Tony have to offer—but today, court let out early, and Steve and Bucky joined Sam in the gym to spar while Natasha and Tony worked on anti-Penumbra security upgrades.

"Is that all you got, Buck?" Steve taunts, drawing Sam's attention back to the match just in time for Bucky to deliver a jab that Steve narrowly avoids.

"If you say 'I can do this all day,' I'm going to kick you where it hurts," Bucky replies evenly. The pair of super soldiers have been sparring for the past half an hour, but neither has so much as broken a sweat. Sam doubts that either of them will get the edge over the other. They know each other way too well for that. Kind of like Sam and Dean did, once upon a time.

Sam can't help but wonder how differently a sparring match between the Winchester brothers would go now, after a year in prison for Dean and new superhuman abilities for Sam. It says something about Dean's skill that Sam isn't immediately confident that he'd win.

"How long do these matches usually last?" Sam questions after a minute. Steve and Bucky both nod to acknowledge that they heard Sam, but they don't break eye contact with each other.

"Depends on the day," Steve says, ducking when Bucky throws a punch. Bucky carries his momentum into a spinning kick that nails Steve in the right thigh. Steve grunts and steps back, regaining his balance and nailing Bucky in the chin when Bucky steps forward to deal another blow.

"Yeah." Bucky agrees. "Sometimes, Steve gives up after fifteen minutes. Other times, he lasts two hours."

"And sometimes it's Buck who gives up," Steve adds with a glare, and Sam smiles, shaking his head. Steve swings his leg out and catches Bucky's left ankle, sending him to the floor. Bucky lands hard on his left shoulder, and the resulting metallic crash echoes through the gym. A moment later, Sam's phone rings, and when he pulls it out of his jacket pocket, he's not surprised to see Natasha's name staring up at him.

Sam answers the phone and puts it up to his ear, watching as Bucky rolls to the side, wrapping his hands around Steve's ankles and yanking. "Sorry about the noise," Sam says, wincing when Steve's landing makes almost as much noise as Bucky's. "The crashing was Bucky's arm, I swear."

"Someone is asking for you at reception," Natasha says, her voice a low whisper. Sam frowns, standing up and turning away from the sparring ring.

"What?" Sam asks, searching his mind for anyone who would ask for him at reception. The only people who visit him at the Tower are his lawyers, who come in through the private entrance, and the Avengers, who don't need to stop at reception. Even Jody and her girls, on the rare occasion that they're in town, know to head right into the elevator. "Who is it?"

"Three guys," Natasha says. "They dress like you, and they look very out of place in the lobby. But they also act a lot like you. Same mannerisms." Sam swallows hard at that—Natasha is an expert at body language, and if she sees any similarities between Sam and his unexpected visitors, that narrows down the list of possibilities significantly. Like, to one.

They must be hunters. And Sam is pretty sure that he knows which ones.

"Do you know their names?" Sam asks anyway. He's pretty sure he knows who at least one of the men is, but it's best to be prepared. Something tells Sam that being turned away at reception isn't going to stop these guys.

"Bruce Marshall, Reggie Hull, and Tim Janklow." Natasha relates, and Sam nods slowly, frowning. That sounds about right.

Now, does Sam send Marshall away and risk a less cordial encounter? Or does he meet them in the lobby and risk exposing Darkside?

"I'm in the gym with Steve and Bucky," Sam says, keeping his voice as steady as possible. "Do you think you could escort them up here?"

"So you know them?" Natasha asks immediately.

"They were friends of my dad's." Sam lies, hoping that Natasha assumes the waver in his voice is from the mention of John Winchester rather than the white lie. Sam is pretty sure that Hull and Janklow worked with his dad once upon a time, but he sincerely doubts that they were ever friends, and he knows Bruce Marshall never was.

_"What, so now the kid's got office hours?"_  Sam hears Marshall's voice in the background. He sounds irritated, and Sam imagines that the receptionist just denied the trio entry—on account, most likely, of their less-than-stellar public lives.

"Melissa, if you don't mind, I'll take it from here," Natasha says, her voice slightly muffled. Sam realizes that she must have put her phone away but kept it on so that Sam can hear whatever the three hunters say to Natasha. "I just spoke to Sam, and he asked me to bring these three up to meet him."

"And who are you?" Marshall asks, his voice a lot closer now and incredibly flirty.

"Natasha Romanoff," Natasha replies sweetly, and Sam smirks. He almost wants Marshall to keep flirting—a dislocated shoulder would make him much easier to fight should it come to that. "Sam is in the gym right now, so I'll take you there." The phone starts to rub against Natasha's jacket, implying that she's moving, and Sam ends the call. When he turns, he's not surprised to find that Steve and Bucky have stopped sparring and are watching Sam curiously.

"I kind of lied," Sam says, setting his phone down on the bench and climbing into the ring. "They aren't my friends."

"Who are they, then?" Bucky asks, ducking out of the ring and grabbing his water bottle.

"Someone I need to intimidate as much as possible," Sam replies, raising an eyebrow at Steve. Without hesitation, Steve steps into a sparring stance, and Sam copies him, throwing a couple of punches, then dodging one of Steve's.

"Sam, your visitors are here," Natasha calls from the elevator. Sam and Steve both drop their fists, and Sam nods to Steve before exiting the ring. As Sam head for Natasha and her three companions, Bucky tosses a towel in Sam's direction. Sam catches it with one hand and rubs his face for show, biting back a grin when Hull and Janklow both stiffen. Marshall doesn't seem affected by the show, but Natasha scowls, apparently realizing that the three men she invited up aren't entirely who Sam said they are.

"Reggie. Tim." Sam says evenly. "Marshall."

"Sam," Tim replies, his voice somewhat strained. "So you're, what, an Avenger?"

"Nope." Sam says, popping the 'p.' "Just taking advantage of Mr. Stark's hospitality. Beats living out of a motel, and it's a hell of a lot cheaper."

"You didn't strike me as a city kid." Reggie comments. "Your daddy certainly wasn't."

"Nah, Dad hated big cities. So did Dean." Sam says. "To be honest, I've never really minded them." Sam spares a glance at the sparring ring he left and finds Steve and Bucky watching intently, both clearly prepared to assist Sam at a moment's notice.

That's probably good because this situation is probably going to turn sour fast.

"Why are you really here?" Sam asks after a minute, crossing his arms. Tim shifts uncomfortably, shifting his gaze to Natasha a couple of times. Reggie looks a little bit more confident, but it's Marshall who straightens, fueling confidence into his posture and his words.

"We came to see about that unfinished business of ours."

Sam frowns. "I wasn't aware that we had any." Sam's tone takes on a warning edge and Natasha stiffens, as, presumably, do Steve and Bucky behind Sam.

"Oh, you know, a bar, a kitsune, and a disappearing act?" Marshall says, a new edge to his voice as well. "How human even are you?" It's these words that seem to make Natasha realize the true nature of this meeting. That Marshall, Reggie, and Tim aren't friends of Sam's dad so much as coworkers. Hunters, and not the kind like Bill Roberts and the Trenton brothers. These hunters don't idolize Sam Winchester in the least.

"So what if I have a few new tricks?" Sam asks. "I'm no monster."

"Aren't you?" Marshall challenges. "What about Steve Bose?"

"That was nearly a decade ago," Sam says. "I had nothing to do with Steve's death, and you know it."

"Sure, you didn't," Reggie speaks up, shaking his head. "You aren't the one who let all those demons out, of course." Sam shakes his head. That's a low blow, and all of the hunters know it.

"You should leave now while you still can," Sam says, taking care to keep his voice even. "Steve is long dead, Reggie. Taking your anger out on me isn't going to do anything to bring him back."

"Maybe not, but I'll feel a hell of a lot better," Reggie replies.

"And there will be one less monster in this world," Marshall adds. "Two birds. One stone." With that, Reggie draws a small knife, lunging at Sam. Rather than use his abilities, Sam grabs Reggie's arms, shoving him back and engaging him in hand-to-hand. It isn't a difficult fight—Sam has dodged every blow sent his way and delivered a few pulled punches of his own—but that changes rapidly when Tim and Marshall both join the fray, drawing weapons of their own. Tim has another dagger, only a little larger than Reggie's, but Marshall is carrying an angel blade.

Sam doesn't want to know how he got it.

Sam manages to disarm Tim, and a well-placed shove sends Tim backpedaling out of reach. Sam dodges a swipe of Reggie's knife,  then feels something catch on his sleeve and slice through his upper arm.

And then comes the fire.

Sam gasps, backing away from Reggie and Marshall and staring at his arm in disbelief as it glows a bright red and smokes lightly. He told Steve he had never tested an angel blade on himself. Looks like he has his answer.

"Oh, well, that's a surprise," Tim says, apparently gaining some confidence from the confirmation that Sam is a little less human that he claimed. "Sammy's even more of a monster than the last time we saw him."

"And to think, you told us you weren't drinking anymore," Reggie adds condescendingly. Sam presses his hand over his arm, willing the pain to fade.

"Sam Winchester, the boy with the demon blood. How long have you been drinking it?" Marshall asks. "How little of you is human now?" Sam flinches away, sending Marshall the most hate-filled look he can—his calm facade has long since crumbled away.

"I didn't drink any," Sam says after a minute. He intends the words to be confident, but instead, they're weak, submissive, and Sam hates sounding like that in front of the Avengers, but there's nothing he can do about it now. "It was injected into me by a group of demons. Right into my heart. I couldn't have fought it." It's a piece of information Sam has never shared, one he doubts will make much a difference to Marshall, Reggie, and Tim. One he'll surely be questioned about by Natasha, Steve, and Bucky later, assuming Sam makes it out of this alive.

"You really are more demon than human, aren't you," Reggie says with a laugh. "If you were a real hunter, you would have killed yourself as soon as you had the chance."

Marshall raises his angel blade again. "You would have taken care of the monster you've become so that we didn't have to."

Natasha steps forward, pointing one Widow's Bite at Marshall and the other at Reggie. "Don't even think about touching him." She says darkly. The sound of footsteps draws Sam's eyes to his right, where Steve and Bucky are jogging closer. They both look angry, and Bucky's metal hand is clenched into a tight fist.

"You know what? No." Sam says, straightening to his full height and dropping his hand to his side. The cut on his arm has already stopped bleeding and begun to heal over. "A decade ago, I probably would have believed you. Would have taken those words to heart and blamed myself for Steve's death, for letting those demons out, for starting the Apocalypse. But I know better now." Sam smirks. "I've seen a lot of things in the past decade, learned a lot of things. I've learned that the world isn't black and white. It isn't just monsters and humans. The world has changed, Marshall. There are superheroes now, with powers that could easily be defined as supernatural. Are you willing to hunt Captain America? If you think that abilities are what makes a monster a monster, then he qualifies." Tim and Reggie both look uncomfortable, but Marshall is still standing tall, that lazy smirk still on his face.

"A monster is a monster, no matter how good they think they are," Marshall says without an ounce of hesitation or worry in his tone. "It's not natural. You're not natural. Taking pity on monsters is what gets hunters killed." He pauses, sneering at Sam. "Monsters may try to be good, but at the end of the day, they'll kill you when they get the chance."

"You know, Marshall, it's a good thing you're wrong," Sam says, nodding to Steve. "Because I'm pretty sure the good Captain here could kill you in his sleep if he really wanted to." Steve smiles politely at Marshall, who suddenly looks a lot less sure of himself.

"Bruce, let's go," Reggie says quietly, practically shaking now that he's surrounded by angry Avengers.

"Come on," Tim adds.

"Go, Marshall," Sam says. "Go and hunt the real monsters. The ones who take innocent lives indiscriminately, who destroy cities and tear out throats and laugh at the pain of others. But remember that blood doesn't make monsters. There are vampires out there who have killed less innocent people than you. There are people with powerful abilities who aren't monsters, and people without them who are. If you kill someone who doesn't deserve it, that makes you the monster, Marshall. Not them." Marshall stands his ground, staring Sam down coldly, so Sam shifts his attention to Reggie and Tim. "I'm sorry about Steve, I really am. I'm sorry about him, and the Harvelles, and Gordon Walker, and every single hunter who has ever died at the hands of a monster that I wasn't able to stop. I'll never be able to bring them back, and neither will you. But there are people out there just like them, with families who care about them. And those people, you can save."

Reggie and Tim exchange a look and a nod, then they both put away their knives.

"I'm not done with you, Winchester," Marshall warns, and Sam smiles.

"Don't worry, Bruce," Sam says, watching as Tim and Reggie each grab one of Marshall's arms, pulling him back into the elevator. "If you ever kill an innocent person, I'll see you again. In fact, I'll be sure to arrest you personally." The last thing Sam sees before the elevator doors close is the scowl on Marshall's face. Sam immediately turns to face Steve, Bucky, and Natasha, a sheepish grin on his face.

"What the hell, Sam?" Natasha says, crossing her arms. "Those guys wanted to kill you, why would you tell me to let them in?"

"They came here peacefully. Asked for me at reception, had a conversation before they attacked." Sam says. "It might not have been like that. Hunters are overwhelmingly the shoot-first type. I'm sure Marshall was testing the waters, to see if I'd answer, and to see if I was really the monster he thought I was. If I had sent them away, they would have come back angrier, with enough proof that I'm a demon to put an angel blade between my eyes without hesitation."

"They still might." Steve points out, and Sam shrugs.

"I'm ready for them." He says. "I've known for a while that a faction of the hunters, led by Marshall, have it out for me. Reggie and Tim tried to kill me a long time ago, and they're far from the only ones who have. Not every hunter sees Dean and me the way Bill Roberts and the Trenton brothers do. In some stories, I'm the hero. In others, the villain."

"Still, inviting them up here was a stupid idea," Bucky says.

"If push came to shove, I could have handled them," Sam says. "But I didn't want to hurt them. That would just add fuel to the flames. Now, they'll tell the rest of the hunters that they challenged me and walked away unscathed. That I didn't so much as bruise their knuckles. That the only one that got hurt was me." Sam shakes his head. "I'll have to call Jody and give her the real story to spread. Marshall will come back, I don't doubt that. And he'll come with an army. But Reggie and Tim won't be in it."

"What happened?" Bucky asks. "To their friend Steve?"

"I left the business for a while," Sam says. "After the Apocalypse. Dean and I had a falling out, and I found this little bar and started working there to get some cash. Tim, Reggie, and Steve came in and asked me to help them with a group of demons nearby, and I refused." Sam swallows hard. "I don't know exactly what happened, but the hunt went bad. Steve died, and he died bloody, and somewhere along the way, a demon told Reggie and Tim that I had started the Apocalypse. So they came back, angry and grieving, and they took the bartender hostage and held out a vial of demon blood and said 'drink this.'" Sam pauses, shaking his head. "'Drink this, because we know it will make you stronger and angrier and evil, and then you'll kill the demons who killed our friend.'"

"But you didn't," Natasha says, and Sam nods.

"I got them out of the bar," Sam says. "No demon blood involved. I had to leave town, of course, and it wasn't long after that I met back up with Dean. The funny thing is, that day, they _wanted_  a monster. They _wanted_ me to drink that blood, to use that power. They didn't care if I was a monster because all they wanted was revenge."

"That's no excuse for hurting you," Steve says sternly, and Sam shrugs.

"There will always be someone who hates me for my past." He says. "I've made far too many mistakes for that not to be true. Today it's Marshall, Reggie, and Tim. Tomorrow it might be another hunter, or an angel, or a ghost. There's a list a mile long of people who died because of me, and an even longer list of people who hate me because of it. I'm ready to face them."

"So are we," Bucky says. "Your demons, and ours. You don't beat the past on your own."

"We'll always have your back, Sam," Steve says, and Sam can't help but picture the arrow in his stomach in his vision. The Avengers say they're always on Sam's side, that they'll always have his back. Always, always, always.

In Sam's experience, always doesn't mean forever. And Sam doesn't think that this particular always is going to last much longer.


	15. Chapter 15

_Sam watches, a warning frozen on his lips, as Peter Parker falls to the floor, knees buckling beneath him. Sam can only see Peter’s face for a split second before Tony’s body obscures it—Tony who runs to Peter’s side and practically collapses beside him—but it's enough to know definitively who it is who dies. Sam can’t hear what either of them says, but they must say something because Sam feels sorrow and guilt and a million other emotions wash over him all at once._

_Sam’s yellow vision flickers, then brightens to the point where Sam can no longer see anything more than the shapes of Tony and Peter, merged into one. There’s another figure, skulking away, disappearing into the shadows. Sam assumes it’s Penumbra, making their escape. Sam watches them go, but he never sees them leave because his eyes are torn away by the impact of an arrow in his stomach._

_Sam stares down at his torso, falling to his knees as Bucky, Natasha, and Steve run in his direction. His hands are wrapped around the shaft of the arrow, and Sam pulls it out and tosses it to the side. As Sam watches in horror, blood flows over his gloved hands and his yellow vision flickers once more until it dies out entirely._

_Sam follows soon after, and the world goes dark around him._

Sam's eyes fly open, and he shoots into a seated position, chest heaving as he gasps for breath. It feels like there's a weight pressing on Sam's chest, firm and unyielding and just as inescapable as the future he's being forced to witness. He's seen his own death before—seen it twice since he arrived in Manhattan, in fact—but there's something different about this vision. Something permanent.

The memories of the bank shooting have lost their power, now that Sam knows he merely passed out. And Sam's death at the hands of the Judge never came to pass at all. Maybe Sam's latest vision is so worrying because it hasn't happened yet, and Sam doesn't know what will happen. Perhaps it's worrying because it's sticking around even when the rest of Sam's memories are rapidly fading into a smoky haze. Or maybe it's worrying because this time, Sam won't be able to stop what he sees from happening.

Won't be able to save himself, but more importantly, won't be able to save Peter.

Sam reaches for his prosthetic and pulls it on, taking a deep breath to steady his shaking hands. He won't be getting any more sleep tonight, there's no way. Sam can't bear to see this vision play out more than once in a single night.

Can't bear to watch Peter Parker die multiple times in a day.

It takes Sam longer than usual to get to his feet, on account of his shaking hands, but once he's standing, he heads right for the elevator, asking JARVIS to take him to the communal floor. When the elevator doors open, Sam marches meaningfully toward the library, desperate to escape into a fantasy world where everything is normal and the demons that the characters fight are of the psychological variety.

Sam grabs the first book he sees— _Jane Eyre_ , which he recalls reading for an English class once upon a time, possibly in his freshman year of college—and sits down at the table. It doesn't take long for Sam to get absorbed in the story, although it certainly helps that the book isn't bad and Sam barely remembers the plot from his college years, so he's reading it with new eyes. Sam is so lost in the story that he hardly hears the soft sound—if it weren't for his enhances senses, he may have missed it entirely.

_Tap._

Sam frowns, looking up for a moment.

_Tap._

His hand poised to turn the page, Sam cocks his head to one side, channeling his attention into his ears in an attempt to identify the sound.

_Tap._

_Tap._

_Tap._

Sam's first thought is that there's a bird, tapping idly on the window. But the regularity of the tapping gives Sam pause—birds aren't prone to keeping to a rhythm. People, however, are.

And if Sam were on the first floor of Avengers Tower, he might be a little less worried by that thought.

_Tap._

 

_Tap._

Sam closes the book and sets it down on the table, then stands. "JARVIS, where..." Sam trails off and shakes his head, remembering that JARVIS isn't built into the library. Sam is going to have to deal with whatever this is on his own.

_Tap._

Sam follows the sound to the far end of the library, where he recalls there being a large beanbag chair next to a big window. Some nights, if the sky is clear, the view stretches for miles. Tonight is one of those nights, Sam thinks as he approaches. But he can't see the skyline.

There's a body blocking the view.

Peter Parker is pressed against the window, his right hand stretched above his head, stuck firmly against the glass. He's not wearing his mask, but he is wearing his suit, although it looks tattered, like Peter lost a fight with a machete. Peter's head is lolling as he fights unconsciousness, his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open. The only sign that Peter is even alive, much less awake, is his left hand, which is locked into a fist and banging lightly on the almost-soundproof window.

_Tap._

 

_Tap._

 

 

_Tap._

Sam's eyes widen, and he turns, running out of the library.

"JARVIS, call Tony," Sam says urgently, terrified for the boy fifty stories up and hanging by a thread. "It's an emergency."

"Sam?" A groggy Tony's voice fills the air, and Sam wastes no time at all getting to the point.

"Peter is hurt. He's hanging outside the library window. And I don't think he'll be able to hold on much longer." Without waiting for a response, Sam runs back into the library, over to the window, praying that Peter is still there. He realizes along the way that the tapping has stopped, and his heart stops, too.

Sam nearly collapses where he stands when he finds Peter still hanging, his left hand limp at his side but his right still suctioned to the glass. Sam wants to tap back, wants to see if Peter wakes up, if he even can, but Sam doesn't want to risk startling Peter.

Sam doesn't want to kill Peter, but he can't let him die, either. Not however it happens in his vision. And not like this. 

Sam knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that if Peter falls, Sam won't hesitate to follow him down, to jump from the roof like he did the day he saved Karen Page. To take the brunt of an impact that, from this height, might just prove deadly.

The muted sound of blasters draws Sam's eyes up, and he watches as an Iron Man suit lowers itself to Peter's level. Tony scoops Peter into his arms and Sam sees a long gash on Peter's chest. Peter's suit is torn almost clean in half, the ripped edges of the fabric held in place by Peter's blood, which has cemented them to Peter's too-pale skin.

Tony flies up toward the landing platform, and Sam teleports there, heart racing in his chest. As soon as Tony touches down, Sam puts one hand on Tony's shoulder and the other on Peter's forehead, taking all three of them to the medical floor. Tony passes Peter off to a waiting gurney and then sticks out one hand, catching Sam just before he careens into a wall. Sam squeezes his eyes shut and wills the world to stop spinning on its axis, cursing the limitations of his abilities.

"You good?" Tony asks when Sam finds his footing a minute later and straightens.

"Yeah," Sam replies, shaking his head.

Tony steps out of his suit and crosses his arms. "Okay, so what the hell happened?"

"I don't know," Sam admits. "I had a nightmare, went to the library. Heard tapping and went to investigate, and found Peter hanging there, hitting the window." Sam bites the inside of his cheek. "If I hadn't been there..." He trails off, and Tony shakes his head.

"You were," Tony says. "You saved his life, Sam, simple as that. I'm more concerned with who put him there."

"Mr. Stark." Dr. Williams exits the room Peter disappeared into. "Mr. Parker is awake and asking for you." Tony heads for the room, only to pause in the doorway and gesture for Sam to follow him.

"Is he stable?" Sam asks, and Dr. Williams nods.

"The only wound is the cut on his chest." She explains. "It's mostly superficial damage. The length and location of the gash led to immense blood loss, resulting in Mr. Parker losing consciousness. Once we replenish his blood supply, he should be fine." Sam nods gratefully, then follows Tony into Peter's room.

Peter is sitting up in the bed, propped up by pillows that he clearly positioned himself. He's now wearing a pair of sweatpants, and his chest is wrapped in bandages.

"Mr. Stark! Sam!" Peter exclaims.

"Kid, what the hell happened?" Tony asks worriedly.

Peter frowns. "I was on patrol, and this lady screamed, and then I saw a man running away with a purse in his hand. I dropped down to stop him, and he kinda fell over." Peter pauses, eyes wide and face pale as he looks up at Tony. "I think he was dead. His neck looked kinda funny, like it was broken. Anyway, I grabbed the purse to try to find the lady, and then suddenly, I couldn't see anything at all. Something tore off my mask, like some kind of tentacle or something, and when I tried to run away, I got scratched by some invisible claws. I tried to web my way to Avengers Tower, but I guess I miscalculated because I ended up stuck to a window. I think I passed out after that." Sam and Tony exchange a weighted look, neither willing to be the one to voice their fears.

They both know exactly who attacked Peter.

"Did whoever attacked you say anything, Peter? Anything at all?" Sam asks, and Peter shakes his head, frowning.

"I mean, I thought I heard my name, but I'm not sure when. It gets kinda fuzzy after the claws." Peter says. Sam nods hesitantly, apprehension building in the pit of his stomach.

Penumbra attacking Sam is one thing, but their targeting Peter is another thing entirely. Penumbra is connected to Asmodeus, Sam doesn't doubt that for a second. It makes sense for them to go after Sam. But Peter is meaningless to Asmodeus and should be meaningless to Penumbra, too. They've only ever met once before, and Sam was the target of that attack. In fact, if it weren't for Peter, Sam probably wouldn't have survived it.

Sam's eyes widen, and he bites down hard on the inside of his cheek. "Crap."

"What's up?" Tony asks, as he and Peter both send expectant looks Sam's way.

"I think I know why Penumbra attacked Peter," Sam says.

"Wait, that was Penumbra?"

"Why?"

"Yeah, Peter, I'm pretty sure it was Penumbra," Sam says, shaking his head. "And because last time they tried to attack me,  you're the one who stopped them." Peter frowns, but Tony's eyes widen.

"You said that Peter's webs were able to hit Penumbra, even though you couldn't," Tony says.

"Exactly," Sam replies. "I don't think Penumbra's attack on Peter was a coincidence. I think they see him as a threat. As something standing in the way of their goal."

"Which, given the circumstances, is probably you." Tony infers.

"That's what I'm thinking." Sam agrees. "Which means that Peter is in danger, but he's also probably the only one of us who actually stands a chance against Penumbra."

"Cool," Peter says, and Tony scowls.

"Not cool, kid." Tony corrects. "Penumbra isn't someone you want to be on the bad side of. Anyone who can beat Sam that easily is someone we should all be worried about." Sam nods in agreement, but his mind is somewhere else entirely, skimming through what he remembers of his latest vision.

Peter's body, lying on the concrete, fatally wounded. Penumbra, vanishing into the air, leaving Peter dead. The arrow that ends Sam's life, buried in his stomach.

Sam doesn't think he's the one killing Peter in his vision. Not after tonight, not after seeing what Penumbra did to Peter today. 

Sam doesn't kill Peter, Penumbra does.

So why does Clint kill Sam?


	16. Chapter 16

For two days after Penumbra's attack, Peter stays in the medical bay, recovering. Tony is initially shocked that Peter appears to be healing at an average rate—which is apparently abnormally slow for Peter—until Sam explains that supernatural wounds have a tendency to counteract superhuman healing, at least in his own case. When Peter's aunt comes to visit, Sam hides away, no longer terrified of being the one to kill Peter but haunted nonetheless by the part he plays in leading Peter to his death.

Sam has no visions for two nights, but he doesn't believe for a second that what he saw won't come to pass.

To keep himself distracted, Sam busies himself with the search for the location of Peter's attack, using what little Peter can remember and JARVIS's endless resources to find the street where Peter first tried to stop a mugging. JARVIS finds a police report about a body discovered nearby—a man clutching a purse, his neck cleanly broken—but it's Sam who finds the red light camera that caught the action, however grainy the resulting footage may be.

Three days after the attack, only a few hours after Peter is discharged and returns home, Steve, Bucky, and Natasha stop by the tower on their way back from the courthouse. It's Tony who suggests to Sam that the trio take a look at the security footage, pointing out that Tony and Sam have spent a combined 24 hours watching the same 30 seconds of video and that fresh eyes might do them good. Sam's agreement has barely left his lips when Tony jumps on the intercom and invites Steve, Bucky, and Natasha to his lab. Once everyone has gathered, Tony turns on the footage, and Sam steps back so the trio can watch the course of actions that Sam has memorized down to the detail.

The video begins five seconds before the mugger runs in to view—the initial robbery isn't captured on the tape, and the woman who was attacked doesn't appear at all—and he's followed a moment later by Spider-Man, who drops down in front of the man at the top left corner of the screen. Peter has just straightened when the man stops in his tracks and keels over, falling into the shadows. Peter whips his head around, looking for the killer, and his form is soon shrouded in darkness as Penumbra attacks. After a moment, Peter bursts out of the shadows, webbing the light post that the camera is on and swinging out of view. Penumbra's form solidifies into a vaguely human shape a moment later, and they follow Peter, running across the intersection and disappearing.

Tony pauses the footage, turning expectantly toward Steve, Bucky, and Natasha. "See anything you like?" Tony asks, crossing his arms.

"What exactly _is_ Penumbra?" Steve asks. "They seem to be made entirely out of shadow, if that's even possible."

"Not exactly," Sam replies. "At the very end, Penumbra seems to solidify. The light from the stoplights doesn't pass through them anymore. There's a moment, right at the end, where Penumbra becomes solid enough to cast a shadow." JARVIS rewinds to the point in question, and Sam points out the shadow stretching behind Penumbra's form. Three seconds earlier in the footage, there's no shadow at all.

"So Penumbra definitely has a physical form," Bucky says. "The question is, is it a _human_ form?"

"Yes," Natasha says confidently. "JARVIS, rewind to when Peter escapes and play it in half time." The video starts up, and everyone watches silently as Peter disappears from view and Penumbra takes on their human form, strolling across the street and growing less translucent with every step. "They have mannerisms. A walking style. They walk more heavily on the balls of their feet, and they swing their arms with each step, although only slightly. Their hips sway a bit as they walk, moving side to side." Natasha shakes her head. "I think we've been looking at this the wrong way."

"What do you mean?" Tony asks.

"We've been looking at Penumbra as a demon," Natasha says. "But what if they aren't? Sam wasn't a demon first, he was a human who gained a demon's abilities. If Penumbra was given their powers the same way that Sam was, they're a human first, too."

"Which means they probably have a name, and a face," Steve says.

Tony grins, straightening. "Something we can actually track."

"But what do we look for?" Bucky wonders aloud. "Another man who disappeared more recently than Sam, maybe around the time that Sam escaped? One who just made a reappearance or never showed back up?"

"Not a man." Natasha corrects. "A woman." Sam frowns, and Natasha shakes her head. "The way Penumbra walks, it's not how a man walks. The hips, the more subtle swing of the arms, even the focus on the balls of the feet suggests someone who has practice in either ballet or wearing heels. I think that Penumbra is actually a woman."

Sam's frown only deepens as he searches his memory for the details of his previous encounters with Penumbra. The shadowed corner where Peter rescued Sam and the intruder at Avengers Compound don't offer much help, but there's something significant that the other two encounters—Sam's first potential encounter with Penumbra and Peter's attack—have in common that Sam has been overlooking. Something that, with this extra piece of information, suddenly seems incredibly obvious.

"Penumbra was the victim," Sam says, shaking his head. "I don't know how we didn't see it before, but she was the victim."

"Care to elaborate?" Tony asks, and Sam nods.

"The first time I ran into Penumbra, I saw a woman being attacked by a man in an alley. They both vanished, and later that night, Matt and I found the man dead, with his neck broken." Sam gestures to the image of Penumbra's human form, still frozen on the screen. "And when Penumbra attacked Peter, he was trying to stop a man who had just mugged a woman. That man fell down, dead, with his neck snapped."

"In both cases, we never saw the woman." Steve realizes.

"Which means that Peter and I have both seen Penumbra's human form, even if we didn't know it at the time," Sam says. "She wasn't killing those men to protect the women, she was protecting herself."

"Unless she wasn't," Bucky says quietly, frowning. He walks over to the screen and pokes at it with the pointer finger on his metal hand. When a set of playback controls appear, Bucky hits rewind and starts the video over from the beginning. He plays the first few seconds, when the man is running with the purse, at half speed, then rewinds and starts it again. And again. And again.

After five plays, Bucky shakes his head. "She wasn't protecting herself." He points to the mugger, who is frozen mid-step. "Look at his head. The way that it's lolling." Sam's eyes widen, and he exchanges a worried look with Tony, who has clearly also just realized what Bucky is insinuating. Natasha frowns, and Steve crosses his arms, angling his head to one side as if that will make sense out of what they're seeing.

"If he's already dead, how is he running?" Steve voices the question everyone was wondering, and Bucky shrugs.

"Didn't get that far," Bucky says. 

Sam steps closer, examining the man's body. "Penumbra must be holding him up." He decides after a minute. "She's a shadow, she could easily be able to push the man's legs and hold him upright. With the man in the alley, it's even easier. She could have just been holding up his arms and making it look like she was trying to hold him back."

"But if Penumbra's victims are dead before they even attack, why go through with the charade?" Tony asks. Sam bites the inside of his cheek as a worrisome thought crosses his mind.

"She's been setting traps," Sam says. "The entire time, she's been setting traps. She made it look like she was being assaulted because that's the first crime I ever stopped as Darkside. She made it look like she was being mugged to draw in Spider-Man, who has a reputation for stepping in to help that kind of victim. And when I was on edge about the supernatural, she made herself a dark corner that I couldn't resist checking out."

"She's luring you in," Tony says. "Trying to catch you, and now Peter, off guard. But for what purpose?"

"I don't know," Sam says. "She attacked us both the same way, with the claws on the chest. But she left my mask intact and took Peter's. And she chased after him, but when I first saw her, all she did was disappear."

"She wants Peter dead, but not you," Natasha says. "Because Peter can fight her, and you can't."

"Or because she wants something else with you," Steve suggests.

Sam shakes his head. "If she's working for Asmodeus, then she wants me captured. Brought back to him so that he can continue to torture me. Presumably, to make me another powerful minion under his control, like Penumbra is. He's never been one to do his own dirty work."

"Well, what do we do?" Tony asks. "We can't let Penumbra kill Peter, or kidnap Sam." Tony, Natasha, Bucky, and Steve all turn expectantly toward Sam, who stiffens.

They want answers, all of them. Sam is the expert here. The one who can see the future, the one whose past has proved invaluable. Except, in this case, Sam is useless. He's only encountered daevas once before, nearly fifteen years ago. And the only thing he knows for sure can protect against daevas—light—has already proven to be useless against Penumbra.

And as for the future, Sam hasn't seen anything that could help the Avengers stop Penumbra. Only more reasons for them to want her gone.

Sam looks at each Avenger in turn, and when he reaches Bucky Sam lingers for a long moment. Where Natasha, Steve, and Tony are preparing themselves for whatever Sam might say, Bucky looks like he's trying to urge Sam forward with his eyes. He's still expectant, but differently. He doesn't want to know what Sam has to say about daevas. He wants Sam to tell Tony, Steve, and Natasha about the vision that's been haunting Sam for weeks.

Sam sees Tony crying over Peter's body out of the corner of his eye, and then an arrow flies between Steve and Natasha and buries itself in Sam's stomach. Sam takes in a sharp, involuntary breath and shakes his head, ducking his head and avoiding Bucky's gaze. He can't tell them. He can't.

Sam knows what it's like to know ahead of time that someone close to you is going to die, and to not be able to do a damn thing about it. He won't let Tony go through what he did.

Tony can't know that Peter dies.

"I don't know enough about daevas to help in this case," Sam says after a minute, looking up and directing his gaze at the floating image of Penumbra, frozen in the middle of the intersection. "All I know is that they're vulnerable to light, but Penumbra clearly isn't because she doesn't just _exist_  in shadow, she _is_  shadow." Sam bites the inside of his cheek. "I only know one thing that works against her, and that's Peter. And I have no idea why." Without another word, Sam turns and walks out of Tony's lab. He feels his friends' eyes on him until the elevator doors close behind him, and even then their stares burn into his back, just like they do that day in Sam's vision.

When Sam goes to bed that night, he almost thinks he might have a third respite. Then, four hours later, he wakes with an ache in his stomach and the all too familiar tang of blood on his lips.


	17. Chapter 17

There's a glint in Clint's eye as he pulls an arrow out of his quiver, draws his bow, and fires. The arrow sails through the air and Sam frowns when he realizes that it's headed right for him.

Then a grin splits Sam's face, his eyes flash yellow, and he lifts his hand, stopping the arrow in its tracks a few inches from his nose and turning it around. Clint ducks and the arrow sails over his head. The arrow hits a tree a few yards behind Clint and explodes, coating the trunk in blue paint.

When Tony invited Sam to return to the Avengers Compound for the week—"Peter has finals this week, so he won't be joining us"—Sam can honestly say he wasn't expecting a game of paintball to be on the agenda. He also wasn't expecting each Avenger to have custom equipment that dispenses paint. Even Sam got in on the action—just before the game started, Tony gave him a pair of gloves that release red paint from the fingertips whenever Sam touches something.

Sam already has a smudged red mark on his nose from a misguided attempt to brush his hair out of his eyes.

"You're gonna have to try harder than that," Sam says, winking and teleporting a few feet to his left just as Tony flies past, blasting the ground where Sam previously stood with more blue paint. Sam uses the back of his hand to push his hair out of his face, wary of getting any more paint on himself—Tony said it washed off with water, but Sam isn't terribly keen to find out just how difficult the paint is to remove.

"Nice maneuver, Sasquatch," Tony says through the comm in Sam's ear, making a wide arc to turn himself back around. As Tony passes back over the field, Natasha nails Clint from behind with a bullet that explodes when it hits his back, covering Clint's arrows with red paint. 

"Hey!" Clint exclaims, grumbling to himself as he walks over to the side of the building, joining Bucky, who has a red mark across his chest from Steve's shield. The sound of metal hitting metal draws Sam's eyes to his right, where Steve's shield has just rebounded off of a metal pole and back into Steve's waiting hand. Natasha joins Sam and Steve, and they watch as Tony touches down a few yards away, the last man standing on the blue team.

"You really think you can win, Stark?" Steve teases, and Tony takes to the skies once again, flying a blaster that narrowly misses Steve's head and sends Sam and Natasha backpedaling.

"I can do this all day, Capsicle," Tony replies, firing another shot that catches Natasha in the right shoulder. She walks over to the bench and sits down beside Clint, lifting her legs and resting them in Clint's lap.

Sam teleports out of the way of another paint blast and uses his telekinesis to redirect one of Tony's missiles into the wall of the Compound. Steve throws his shield—Sam isn't actually sure how it transfers paint, since there's no clear mechanism to release it—straight up just as Tony flies overhead, and at the last second Tony uses his boot blasters to knock the shield off course, sending two more paint blasts with his palms while Steve is unarmed. Steve dodges the paint aimed at him, and Sam teleports away from his own, landing a few feet away from where he started, facing the bench. Sam sees worried expressions on the faces of everyone on the bench and spins around, catching a glimpse of red, blue, and silver falling out of the sky.

This is going to hurt.

Sam is unconscious before he hits the ground.

_There's a body–_

_Blue jeans. White tennis shoes. Gray concrete–_

_Red concrete–_

_Red and gold. Obscuring Sam‘s view. Shiny–_

_Tears. Crying. Pain–_

_Red, white, and blue–_

_Red and black–_

_Black and purple. Too many colors. Everyone’s colorful–_

_Everyone’s colorful but the shadow that slinks out of view. Sam tries to focus on it–_

_It’s gone. Vanished. All that’s left is color and light–_

_Everything’s yellow, it’s all too bright–_

_A sharp pain–_

_Pain in Sam's stomach. His hands are red. Not shaking, clenched into fists. They're holding something, something long. Pointed. An arrow–_

_Sam's vision goes black._

When Sam wakes up, he's lying in a puddle of something red–

Sam shoots into a seated position, hands flying to his stomach as he assumes the worst–

He has no injuries, nothing except a welt on his forehead. No blood. Sam touches the red pool around him and brings damp fingers up to his nose. He recognizes the smell–

Paint. It’s paint. Sam looks around, frowning. There’s paint everywhere. On the walls, on the trees, on the people. Red and blue paint.

“Sam?” A voice asks–

Sam whips his head around, trying to locate the source–

”Kid, you okay?“ It’s unfamiliar and cautious, like a stranger on the street trying to gain the trust of a stray cat. It’s coming from the man to Sam’s left–

Long brown hair, metal arm, a line of red paint across his chest. The metal hand is outstretched–

Sam backs away, and the hand is retracted, then held up. Palm out. Surrender, non-threatening, placating–

Sam climbs to his feet and scans the people around him. A man in a metal suit painted red and gold–

_Red and gold. Obscuring Sam’s view. Shiny–_

Sam shakes his head, fighting back against the scrambled remnants. He had a vision, he must have, because that man was there, but he wasn’t covered in paint. And there wasn’t a body.

Another man, holding a round shield, red and silver but mostly blue–

_Red, white, and blue–_

A woman in a black suit with a blue patch on her shoulder. Red hair–

_Red and black–_

A man with a black and purple vest and a quiver of silver and red arrows strapped to his back–

_Black and purple–_

_They're holding something, something long. Pointed. An arrow–_

Arrows.

Sam has no idea where he is, even _when_  he is, but he recognizes those arrows. Even covered in paint, he knows those arrows. That must have been a vision because there was no paint–

Must have been a vision because Sam isn’t dead–

Sam doesn’t know where he is or when he is, but he knows that he’s going to be shot by one of those arrows. He knows that that archer in the black and purple is going to kill him– 

Sam won’t let this stranger kill him–

Sam charges at the archer, slamming into him with full force. Sam expects the archer to be knocked to the ground–

The archer flies through the air, slamming into the paint-coated wall hard enough to send a spiderweb of cracks sprinting across it. The rest of the strangers are staring at Sam–

They look shocked, look scared. Their weapons are raised, but they don’t look angry–

Their weapons are raised–

Sam shakes his head, files his sudden increase of strength away to mull over later, and adjusts his fighting style in his mind to account for it. The woman raises her hands, angles her wrists in Sam’s direction–

Sam wraps his hands around the woman’s wrists, and a moment later, his black gloves are soaked in red paint. The woman’s eyes widen, and she tries to pull free. Sam tightens his grip and lifts–

The woman sails over Sam’s head and lands on the grass behind him with a startled gasp. The man in the metal suit takes to the skies, but Sam ignores him in favor of the man with the shield, who is winding his arm back to throw. The shield sails toward Sam and Sam lifts one hand to catch the shield– 

The shield freezes in midair a few inches away from Sam's hand. Sam frowns, pushing his palm out and sending the shield flying back in the direction of its owner. The shield connects with the man's chest–

The shield picks the man up and carries him back several feet into a tree. The man in the sky sends four missiles in Sam's direction, and Sam lifts both hands, diverting two of the missiles off to either side. One explodes on the wall, coating a significant portion in blue paint, and the other hits the dazed shield-bearer, leaving a blue mark over roughly half of his body. The other two missiles stay on course and Sam bites the inside of his cheek, blinking–

Sam is suddenly standing a few feet away from where he was before. He watches as the missiles hit the ground and create a blue crater in the grass. The man in the metal suit flies down at Sam, speeding toward him like a human rocket, and Sam teleports again. The metal man course-corrects, swerving upward just before he hits the ground and landing on his feet rather than his face. Before he has the chance to attack again, Sam charges him–

Sam is yanked backward by a steady hand that has an iron grip on the neck of Sam's jacket. Sam teleports again–

The hand is still there, still holding on. Sam scowls, turning around to find the metal-armed man standing before him, flesh hand raised palm out and metal fist curled around the fabric of Sam's jacket.

"We ain't gonna hurt you, kid." The metal-armed man says, his voice low, patient, calm. Sam pauses, frowning. If they aren't going to hurt him, then why did– 

Does–

_Will_  the archer shoot him?

Sam doesn't believe it for a second.

Sam lifts both hands, intending to send the metal-armed man flying like he did the rest of the team– 

Someone grabs Sam from behind–

Two metal arms are wrapped around Sam's chest–

A metallic-sounding voice shouts, "Do it–" 

Something sharp pierces Sam's neck, and the world slows down. Everything in Sam's field of vision turns a sickening shade of yellow, and he throws the man in the metal suit off of him, then turns to his right and shoves the woman with the needle into the wall. Sam teleports over to the man in the metal suit and reaches for his arm, intending to throw him again or maybe just tear the suit right off the man's body. The yellow world starts blurring, and Sam misses the arm by a mile—in his defense, there are now three of them—and immediately lunges forward, only to suddenly find himself lying on his side, his left arm buried in the blue crater that the missiles created earlier.

Sam's vision spins, and he fights to his knees, then to his feet, only to fall back down again, landing hard on his left shoulder. Black spots encroach on Sam's vision and he groans, rolling onto his back as his limbs begin to go numb.

Sam fights unconsciousness as long as he possibly can, staring up at the sky. His yellow vision flickers–

Brightens–

Goes out entirely. 

The last thing that Sam sees is six blank faces, staring down at him.


	18. Chapter 18

Sam is not, unfortunately, a stranger to waking up in restraints. After repeated kidnappings, hostage-takings, and various other memorable incidents, Sam has developed a bit of a thick skin when it comes to being restrained—both metaphorically and literally, in terms of the skin on his wrists—but that doesn't mean that he enjoys being tied up. Or fully understands why. Or reacts well at all.

This time, when Sam wakes with a start to find his wrists fastened to the railings of what appears to be a hospital bed, Sam's first instinct is to fight. And fight he does.

Sam channels every bit of strength he can—enhanced or otherwise—into his hands, yanking them up with enough force to rip the soft cuffs restraining him in half. To Sam's surprise, the action doesn't so much as shift his hands. Sam pulls even harder, terror washing over him as he assumes the worst—that he's been captured by someone who knows his strength, knows how to restrict it. Someone like Asmodeus. Sam's vision flickers yellow as he fights the bindings, and the bed squeaks as Sam's struggles shift it. Sam still has yet to make any headway when the door to his mostly empty room—there's a curtain-less window on the right wall that Sam can't see out of, a gray couch directly across from him, and the door to his left—opens and Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, and Bruce Banner walk in.

"What the hell?" Sam asks, confused and a little angry. He was expecting much worse than to be in the medical bay of the Avengers Compound. He vaguely remembers getting hit during the paintball game, but that doesn't explain why Sam woke up in restraints. His head is pounding, and there's a dull ache in his left shoulder, but as far as Sam can tell he doesn't have any injuries severe enough to require keeping him still. "Why am I tied up? What happened?"

"What's your name?" Steve asks, ignoring Sam's question and asking one of his own instead.

"What?"

"Answer the question," Tony says sternly, his voice low and clipped.

"Sam. Sam Winchester," Sam says with a frown. "What the hell is going on?"

Steve nods, crossing his arms. "What's my name?" He continues.

"Steve Rogers. Or Captain America, depending on who you ask." Sam says. "And that's Tony Stark and Bruce Banner."

"Where are we?" Bruce is the one who speaks up this time, a frown creasing his features.

"The Avengers Compound in upstate New York," Sam says, his frown deepening as he begins to recognize the set of questions. "Do I have a concussion?"

Bruce hesitates, glancing at Steve. "Possibly," Bruce says after a moment, shaking his head. "But that's not my primary concern. What team were you on in the paintball match?"

"Red," Sam says. "It's my turn to ask a question. What's going on? Why am I restrained?"

"That's two questions." Tony unhelpfully points out, and Sam glares at him.

Steve also takes a moment to send Tony a glare. "What do you remember?" Steve asks, turning his attention back to Sam.

"The paintball match. The three of us were the last ones. I teleported out of the way of Tony's missile and got hit in the head by Steve's shield." Sam nods in Steve's direction, and Steve's gaze hardens. "Then, I woke up here." Sam pauses, frowning again. "Did something happen after I was knocked out?"

"Well, uh... yes," Steve says slowly, obviously hesitant to tell Sam the reason behind his restraints. What the hell did Sam do?

"Alright, that's it." Tony says with a scowl, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes at Sam. "Cap's shield hit you, and you went down like a ton of bricks. When you came to, you didn't recognize any of us. Must've thought we were attacking you because you started fighting us. Managed to practically take out the entire team before Romanoff and I were able to get you with a sedative." Tony gestures to the soft cuffs. "You're tied up because we had no way of knowing if you were going to attack us again."

"I..." Sam shakes his head, wishing he could hide his face in his hands. "I'm so sorry. Did anyone... Is everyone okay?"

Steve shakes his head. "We'll be sore for a while, and the gym is going to need some repairs, but that's par for the course on training days," Steve reassures Sam with a hesitant smile. "Everyone is more worried about you."

"Sam, you've mentioned before that after the Lebanon bombing, you suffered from minor memory loss," Bruce says. "Have you been having that issue with any more recent memories?" 

"It never- I don't..." Sam finds his face heating up as he stumbles over his words. He pauses for a moment, pushing for the first time in a while against the wall of frosted glass behind which the majority of his memories of Lebanon lie.

Sam wanted to keep the Avengers in the dark, an ill-advised attempt to be less of a burden. Now, Sam realizes that he's only made things worse by hiding his growing memory issues.

"Yes." 

"Why didn't you tell us?" Tony asks. He sounds hurt that Sam would keep something like that from him, and Sam can't say he blames him. Sam shrugs halfheartedly and frowns.

"It was never a big deal," Sam says. "For those first few months after I escaped, when I was in Hell's Kitchen, I thought the only thing I was forgetting was Lebanon and the demons. I kind of assumed it was just my brain's way of protecting me. It wouldn't be the first time. It wasn't until I started staying at Avengers Tower that I even realized I was forgetting things that happened  _after_  the bombing."

"Like what?" Steve asks curiously.

"Little things," Sam says. "Stuff you don't think about, like where I put my shoes or the day of the week. Every once in awhile, I'd walk into a room and forget why I was there. But I didn't think anything of it. Figured it was stress."

"But..." Tony hedges, urging Sam to continue.

"But after the last fight with the Judge, it got worse," Sam admits with a sigh. "At first, it was the same kind of thing, just with increasing frequency. Then, I started waking up in my room, and for a few seconds I would forget where I was, or I'd forget how to activate a door, or I'd get lost trying to find the elevator. A couple of times, I've been running a training simulation and blanked out, and I'll get punched in the face. But it's never lasted more than a few seconds. Thirty, max."

"So until today, you've never forgotten that much, and for that long." Bruce clarifies, and Sam nods.

"I, uh, I kind of figured it might be coming," Sam admits. "I've been noticing some fracturing in my dreams recently. Blank spots, even when I'm trapped in a memory. I'll wake up missing pieces, and sometimes I'll know I've had a nightmare but not remember a single detail."

"I'm going to start gathering some medical opinions." Bruce decides. "See what our options are and if there are any treatments for this kind of thing. For now, Sam, I want you to tell someone anytime you think you may have forgotten something." Bruce fixes Sam with a stern look. "Anything, no matter how small."

"I can have JARVIS keep a running tally," Tony suggests. "Sam can tell JARVIS anything he forgets, and JARVIS will be able to organize it all. It might help us spot a pattern, and JARVIS can tell us if Sam's getting worse."

Bruce nods, smiling gently. "Set it up." He says. "If you'll excuse me, I have a few friends I should call. We need to try to get on top of this." Bruce heads for the door, pausing once he reaches the doorway and turning back around. "You can release him now," Bruce adds, disappearing down the hallway. Steve steps closer to Sam's head and releases the soft cuffs. Sam brings his hands to his chest and starts rubbing his wrist.

"Sam, I think you should take a break from Darkside," Steve says hesitantly. "We can't risk you losing your memory in the field."

"I can't hang up the mask," Sam says flatly. It's not an argument, it's a statement of fact. Sam can't stop being Darkside.

He isn't being stubborn, isn't trying to fight. Steve is right—Sam is a danger to himself and others as long as his memory is acting up. But Sam isn't concerned about his usual vigilanteism. Fighting is in Sam's blood. If he loses his way in the field, Sam is confident that he'll be able to hold his own. Plus, with the Avengers tailing him every night, they'll be able to intervene should something happen.

And if worst comes to worst, Sam will take a few nights off. New York is in a pretty good state as far as crime goes, and Matt would be more than willing to pick up some of Darkside's slack. But there's one threat that Sam can't abandon, and that's what makes Sam refuse Steve's suggestion.

"Penumbra is still out there," Sam says. "She's already nearly killed me once, nearly killed Peter once." Sam can't stop being Darkside until Penumbra is taken care of. Until Sam is confident that no one will be hurt by the demons from his past.

If Sam stops his nightly patrols, he's giving Penumbra a free pass to travel New York. To terrorize more people, and to set more traps for Sam's friends. Sam can't have a repeat of what happened to Peter. Next time, they won't be as lucky.

"She's only going to get stronger." Sam continues. "She'll only up her game from here. I have to be ready to fight her."

"Okay," Steve says, to Sam's surprise. Sam thought it would be harder to convince Steve to let him fight. "You're right, Sam. We need you in this fight. You're the only one who knows what to expect from Penumbra, how to beat her."

"But we need your brain, too," Tony adds. "Preferably intact. Which means if anything like what happened today happens again, we're benching you."

Steve nods, agreeing with Tony's ultimatum. "Hopefully, it won't come to that. Bruce may have a breakthrough, and then none of this will matter. But if he doesn't, we need to know that you'll listen." Sam hesitates.

As usual, Tony and Steve are right. Sam's head is more useful against Penumbra than his abilities, as proven by the fact that Sam was nearly killed the first time he met her. He's the supernatural expert, and Penumbra is a supernatural villain. But Sam can't just abandon his duties as Darkside. He may not be able to do much against Penumbra, but he can still protect against other threats. And any amount of protection he can offer against Penumbra is better than nothing, even if Sam is only acting as a human shield.

"If you tell me to step back, I will." Sam agrees. "Next time. If it gets any worse." It's barely an agreement, but Steve and Tony take it, both nodding.

"We're holding you to that," Steve says, and Sam nods.

Penumbra isn't going to just disappear. She's going to attack again, probably sooner rather than later, and Sam is going to have to be ready.

If the Avengers insist, Sam will take a step back. But as long as Penumbra is out there, Sam won't hang up his mask.


	19. Chapter 19

As it turns out, soon comes three days later.

Sam and Tony return to Manhattan the day after the paintball incident, cutting their weeklong visit down to just a weekend. As soon as they return Sunday night, Tony disappears into his lab, and when Sam encounters Pepper the following day, he learns that Tony has been coding contingencies into JARVIS—reminders of who Sam is, where he is, and what he's doing, should he forget again.

After he finds out, Sam makes it a personal mission to spend as much time with Tony as possible—if only to ease his fears on the matter. Sam doesn't miss the way that Tony relaxes whenever he knows that Sam is near him. Whenever he knows that, should Sam forget, Tony will be there to help.

It makes Sam feel a bit better, too.

On Tuesday afternoon, Sam and Tony are sitting in Tony's lab, watching the third _Harry Potter_ movie on one of Tony's holograms. They're testing out an old side project of Tony's that uses AI to create holographic 3D versions of 2D movies, and Tony asked Sam for a good film to use as a test subject. As a Dementor flies out of the screen toward Sam, Tony's phone rings, and he waves one hand to pause the footage, leaving the Dementor hanging a few inches from Sam's face.

"Stark, who is this?" Tony says, waving one hand to signal JARVIS to put the call through the tower's speakers and dropping his phone back into his pocket. Sam stands, putting some distance between himself and the Dementor that's just a little bit too real for comfort.

"Michelle Jones." The voice is familiar, and it takes Sam a second to place it. He realizes that the voice belongs to the girl Sam met in the R&D labs, Peter's friend, and then notes that she sounds out of breath and more than a little bit panicked. "Mr. Stark, you've got to come to the school."

"Michelle, what's going on?" Tony asks, fear rising in his own voice as he shuts off the projection and makes a gesture that calls the nearest Iron Man suit to him.

"It's Peter," Michelle says. "There's something here, attacking him. I'd try to describe it, but the lights went out. It's too dark." Sam and Tony exchange a look and Sam teleports to his room, grabbing his jacket and mask and returning to the lab.

"—my way." Tony is saying, and when he sees Sam, he ends the call and holds out one newly-gloved hand. Sam grabs it and teleports them both as close to Peter's high school as he can—which turns out to be across the street.

It isn't hard for Sam to find where the attack is taking place: the windows of the gym are the only ones in the entire building that are blacked out.

Tony grabs Sam around the waist and lifts him into the air, carrying him over to the gym and dropping him a few feet from the ground. Sam lands on his feet and runs inside the gym, stopping in his tracks when he sees the mess awaiting him inside.

Like Michelle said, the entire room is cloaked in darkness, but it's not the kind of dark you see when the lights have gone out. No, this is definitely Penumbra's darkness—moving, shifting, alive, like a scene from a horror movie.

All Sam can make out naturally is three overturned chairs within a few feet of the door, one of which has torn webbing hanging from one leg. Sam's demon sight lends a more complete picture—he can make out four bodies. One, huddling in the corner furthest from the action, he takes to be Michelle, and the second and third—who are circling each other, one vanishing and reappearing and the other swinging through the air at high speeds—must be Penumbra and Peter. Which leaves the fourth body, lying far too still in the approximate center of the room. Sam heads in that direction, avoiding Penumbra and Peter—and Tony, who crashes through a window and joins the fight—and occasionally using his telekinesis to block anything thrown in the direction of him and the injured kid.

When he makes it to the body, Sam drops to his knees, and his heart sinks into his stomach when he realizes that he's looking at Ned, Peter's other friend. Peter's best friend, according to Tony. Peter's best friend, who is lying unconscious on the floor of his school gym with a gash across his chest that's bleeding heavily. It's a small comfort that Ned's soul is still bright—it means that he's alive, but Sam doesn't know how long he'll stay that way.

"Tony, Peter's friend Ned is hurt. Badly." Sam says—he's never been more thankful that Tony built a comm into his mask—touching Ned's arm and teleporting them both to the entrance of the gym. "Got a gash across his chest. He's unconscious and losing blood fast."

"Michelle?" Tony asks, grunting when Penumbra grabs his leg and sends him flying across the gym into the far wall. Sam hesitates, then pulls off his jacket and presses it, hard, into Ned's wound.

"She's out of the way, but I can grab her and get her to the door," Sam says.

"Shit, you can see where we are, can't you?" Tony asks. "Forgot about that aspect of your demon sight for a minute there."

"Can you?" Sam asks.

"I can see Peter, sometimes, but the night vision in my helmet isn't doing much. Penumbra must be screwing with it somehow." Tony says. Sam isn't surprised—unlike the crisp edges of the rest of the people in the room, Penumbra's form is fuzzy, spread out. And most of the gym is glowing slightly. "Get Michelle to the door, and I'll take them both to the hospital. Then help Peter. Teleport him out of here if you have to, but get him away from Penumbra."

"Roger that."

Sam tosses one of the chairs to the side, hitting Penumbra into something—either the stage or the bleachers, Sam doesn't really care which—and then making a run for Michelle.

"You alright?" Sam asks once he reaches Michelle, who is pressing a bloody flannel against her left shoulder but looks otherwise unarmed.

Michelle hesitates, frowning, then nods. "I'm good." She says. "Are Peter and Ned okay?"

"Come with me." Sam holds out his hand and Michelle takes it, and Sam teleports them both to where he left Ned. Michelle's eyes widen, and she abandons her own injury in favor of her friend's, dropping the flannel on top of Sam's jacket and pressing down on both as hard as she can. "Tony, Ned and Michelle are at the door you dropped me at," Sam says. "Get them out of here." Sam waits until he sees Tony's soul heading in his direction to teleport back to the middle of the gym, taking a moment to look around and locate Peter and Penumbra.

As Tony picks Ned up and carries him out the door with Michelle on his heels, Sam zeroes in on Peter, who is stuck to a wall close to the ceiling, the positioning of his right hand suggesting that he's shooting webs blindly into the dark. Penumbra is dodging all of Peter's attacks with ease, her soul—though it's spread throughout the room, Sam can still tell where it's centered—rapidly approaching Peter's hiding place. Sam grabs another chair and throws it as hard as he can, sending Penumbra into the wall Peter is hanging on. A loud cracking sound draws Sam's attention up, and he realizes that he used too much strength. The wall must be shaking because Peter is forced to jump, shooting a web at the ceiling and swinging down to the ground. He lands a few yards away from Sam, who turns in that direction.

"Peter!" Sam shouts, and Peter's head turns. To Sam's horror, Penumbra appears to Peter's right, one hand outstretched. Sam dives forward, slamming full force into Peter, closing his eyes, and picturing the tower.

When Sam opens his eyes again, he's temporarily blinded by the amount of light streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows in the communal lounge. Sam climbs to his feet, looking down and watching as Peter groans, sitting up and rubbing his head.

"Peter, you alright?" Sam asks, and Peter flinches, looking up. Sam pulls down his mask, yellow vision fading away. Peter struggles to get to his feet, and Sam offers him a hand.

"I'm okay," Peter says after a minute, surveying his own body, and then Sam's, for any injuries. "Got thrown a few times, and I'm pretty sure Penumbra hit me with the podium, but I'll be fine."

Sam nods, his own examination of Peter's body turning up only superficial bruising. "What happened?"

"MJ, Ned, and I were in the gym," Peter says, leaning gingerly against the back of the couch. "We have an end-of-year party for decathlon at five. Or, I guess, we were supposed to." Peter frowns, wrinkling his nose as he thinks. "We were the only ones there because everyone else was still in finals. Ned and I didn't have one this block. I thought MJ did, but I guess not." Peter pauses. "We were just talking, hanging out, then everything went black. I thought for a minute the power went out, then Ned screamed." Peter shivers. "And then I heard Penumbra's voice, like she was right next to me."

"What did she say?" Sam asks. Peter looks down at his hands, then up at Sam, his eyes wide.

"She said, 'You won't stand in my way.'"

Sam glances at JARVIS's camera, assuming that JARVIS will send Peter's story to Tony as soon as possible if he hasn't already.

"Are my friends okay?" Peter asks quietly, and Sam frowns.

"Michelle called Tony," Sam explains. "She's the reason we showed up. She told us what happened, or what she knew." Sam walks over to Peter, sitting down on the back of the couch and putting one hand on Peter's shoulder. "Tony took Michelle and Ned to the hospital. Michelle has a cut on her shoulder. Nothing serious, but she'll probably need stitches. But Ned..." Sam trails off, and Peter looks up at him, panic in his eyes. "He's alive, or at least, he was when I left him. JARVIS?"

"Mr. Leeds is in surgery," JARVIS says. "Sir requests that Mr. Parker be brought to Queens General Center Hospital. May Parker is on her way there, as are the Jones and Leeds families."

"I can get us pretty close," Sam says. "You ready?" Peter looks more than a little hesitant, which is understandable. Penumbra just attacked him, just hurt both of his friends. Avengers Tower is probably one of the safest places Peter could be right now. And Sam and Tony are asking him to leave it.

"Let's go," Peter says, holding out one hand. Sam is about to grab it when he sees the web-shooter on Peter's wrist. Sam has never actually seen the entire web-shooter before because usually, Peter is wearing long sleeves or his Spider-Man ensemble. But right now, Peter is wearing a t-shirt, so the wrist cuff is in full view.

Sam swallows hard, then drops his hand to his side. Peter is wearing a t-shirt. And he was when Penumbra attacked, too.

"Peter, Penumbra knows who you are," Sam says, sure that JARVIS will send Tony this message, too. "She didn't attack Spider-Man, she attacked _you_. At your high school, in the gym, where she knew you'd be today, right now, relatively alone." Peter's face pales a few shades.

"Ned and MJ and May are all in danger." He says. "Ned could... Ned could _die_ because of me."

Sam shakes his head, eager to cut off that line of thinking—he knows all too well where it can lead. "This isn't on you, Peter. Penumbra is the only one to blame. Not you, not Tony..." Sam hesitates, then smiles. "Not me." He says.

He almost believes it.

"Now come on." Sam continues, clearing his throat and nodding to Peter's web-shooters. "Maybe do something with those first, though." Peter nods slowly, clearly a bit dazed. He fumbles with the clasp on his right web-shooter and eventually manages to pull it off, dropping it on the couch. The left web-shooter is easier, and Sam shoves his mask into the back pocket of his jeans and gives Peter his hand.

This time, Peter is the one who hesitates.

"How do we know Penumbra won't follow us to the hospital?" He asks, his voice small, quiet, slow. It's the opposite of what Peter usually is—larger than life, loud, quick both on his feet and in his head—and it's evidence enough of Peter's fragile state of mind.

"We don't," Sam says honestly, taking his hand back and resting it on Peter's shoulder instead. Peter leans into Sam's touch, nodding hesitantly. "We don't know that she won't, but she isn't here right now, is she? She didn't follow us to the tower, and she probably won't go to the hospital either." Sam can't say for sure, of course, but so far Penumbra has been planning her attacks in advance. Sam doubts she's going to change that today. "And if she does, Tony and I will be there to protect you."

"But you aren't in your suit," Peter says, and Sam shrugs.

"If my options are saving my identity or saving your life, there's no choice." Sam smiles, and Peter cautiously returns it. "I'll keep you safe."

"Okay," Peter says, his voice wavering a bit. "Okay." He repeats, a bit steadier. "Thanks, Mr. Sam."

Sam smiles, holding out his hand. "You ready?" He asks. Peter nods, looking up.

Peter's eyes are still watery, still wide. Unshed tears are shining in them, and the skin around them is a little bit red, a little bit puffy. But there's steel in Peter's gaze that wasn't there before—and that's all Sam needs to see. Peter will be okay. He's a strong kid.

Peter reaches out and takes Sam's hand, and they both stand. Together, against Penumbra. Against the world.

Sam closes his eyes and pictures Tony. And a moment later, he's standing before them. Peter reaches out and wraps one arm around Tony's waist, but his other stays in Sam's, gripping it tightly, pulling the three of them together.

Against Penumbra. Against the world.


	20. Chapter 20

Goosebumps rise on Sam’s arms, and he rubs absentmindedly at them, trying to remember the last time he went outside without a jacket. He’s become a bit of a hermit recently, leaving the tower primarily for patrols. And even on the rare occasions that Sam has other business to attend to, he wears Darkside’s jacket anyway, paranoid that there will be another attack.

It’s also been a while since Sam was last in a real hospital. Any injuries he’s had in the past six months were treated at Avengers Tower or the Compound, and before that, he tended to visit Claire’s clinic rather than risk his identity. Both places were smaller, more personable, and warmer. Sam forgot how cold a hospital could be.

Tony, Peter, and Sam have been waiting in a private room for half an hour for news on Michelle and Ned’s conditions. May Parker is still on her way, stuck in the traffic around Peter’s high school—according to Tony, the wall of the gym collapsed completely not long after Sam teleported himself and Peter away, taking the ceiling down with it. For a fleeting moment, Sam hoped that Penumbra was still inside. That this latest nightmare was over.

But Sam’s vision has yet to come to pass, so he didn’t really believe it.

“Hey, Peter.” Michelle’s voice has Peter jumping out of his seat, running over to her and examining the bandage on her upper arm, then the rest of her body. Michelle’s gray tank top is stained with blood, some on the side that’s likely her own, and a lot more on her stomach that Sam figures must be Ned’s. She also has some blood under her fingernails, but her hands, though red, aren’t bloody. She must have been scrubbing her skin vigorously, trying to remove her friend’s blood.

“MJ!” Peter exclaims, his voice like a crack of thunder in the quiet room. Tony’s head jerks up—he must have fallen asleep—and he stands, joining Peter and Michelle. Sam relaxes back in his seat, happy that Michelle is okay but unwilling to interrupt the moment. “Are you okay?” Peter asks worriedly, and Michelle nods, a smile stretching across her face that’s filled with false bravado.

“Just a scratch,” Michelle says. “Still not sure how I even got it.”

“Penumbra,” Peter says, shaking his head. “A supervillain who’s trying to kill Spider-Man.”

“Are you okay?” Michelle asks immediately, apparently well aware of Peter’s alter ego. This time, she searches him for injuries, sweeping gaze pausing every time it lands on one of Peter’s numerous bruises.

Peter nods, rocking back on his heels and clasping his hands together behind his back. “I’m fine.” He says, gripping one hand with the other so tightly that his fingers turn white. Michelle must see how tense Peter is because she sighs, opening her arms.

“Come here.” She says, and Peter wraps his arms around her. Michelle is clearly uncomfortable at first, but after a minute, she relaxes, hugging Peter back timidly.

“I’m guessing you’ve been released?” Tony asks once Michelle and Peter pull apart, and Michelle nods.

“Joys of being eighteen.” She says, shrugging. “Don’t need my parents to sign the release forms.”

“Do you have a ride home?” Tony asks, sounding more than a little bit concerned. “I can have a car take you.”

Michelle is quick to shake her head, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “I’ll just call an Uber.” She heads for the door, then pauses, nodding to both Tony and Peter and then turning her gaze on Sam, who stiffens.

Michelle grins, and for a split second, she looks just like Dean, mischievous and proud and just a little bit scared.

“Thanks for saving our asses.” She says knowingly, turning her attention back to Peter. “If my flannel ever makes an appearance, burn it.”

With that, Michelle exits the room, leaving Tony, Peter, and Sam behind, all slightly stunned.

“Does she…” Sam trails off, and Peter shrugs, walking back over and sitting down.

“Probably.” He says. “She figured mine out on her own.”

“Smart girl, that one.” Tony appraises the door Michelle exited from, shaking his head. “I should offer her a job.”

Before anyone has time to mull further, the door opens again, this time to admit a harried woman Sam takes to be May Parker. His hypothesis is confirmed when the woman makes a beeline for Peter, pulling him into a tight hug.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” She says breathlessly, voice just scratchy enough to imply that she’s been crying. “God, Peter, what happened?” Before Peter can get a word out, May turns her head in Tony’s direction, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “You had something to do with this, didn’t you.” Tony raises his hands defensively but doesn’t deny it, and May releases Peter and marches in Tony’s direction, only to stop in her tracks when she sees Sam sitting a few feet away. “What’s _he_ doing here?” She asks defensively, clearly unhappy with Sam’s presence. He can’t say he blames her—if Sam were the one visiting his nephew in the hospital, he’d probably think the terrorist in the waiting room had something to do with it, too.

“Sam didn’t do anything,” Peter says sharply, surprising all three of the adults in the room. “He didn’t hurt us, he _saved_ us. He’s the reason I’m not buried under that gym.” May looks at Sam in disbelief, then shifts her gaze to Tony, who nods.

“With the Avengers upstate, I needed an extra set of hands, so I took Sam with me to help after Michelle called,” Tony explains. “I had to get Ned to the hospital, so Sam grabbed Peter and got him out of there.”

“What exactly happened?” May asks. “Who attacked you?” She pauses, shaking her head. “Actually, before that, tell me if Ned is okay.”

“He’s in surgery,” Tony says, smiling gently. “Prognosis looks good, but we won’t know for sure until he gets out.”

“And his mother?”

“On her way,” Tony says. “Stuck in traffic, same as you were.” May nods, taking a breath and sitting down a few seats away from Sam.

“Alright, what happened?” May asks after a minute, bracing herself for the story.

“The school went dark,” Peter says. “Well, the gym did. Something attacked Ned, and I guess Michelle managed to get out of the way and call Mr. Stark. I managed to stay out of the way until Sam grabbed me and got me out.”

“I took Ned and Michelle here and had Sam bring Peter,” Tony adds. It’s an extremely barebones description of what happened, and Sam wonders if May doesn’t know about Spider-Man, or if Tony and Peter don’t want to risk anyone overhearing particular details. “We think that Peter was the target of the attack,” Tony says after a minute. “I’d like for you both to accompany Sam and I back to Avengers Tower, to talk about this in more detail and to discuss our options.”

“Anything,” May says, getting to her feet and nodding gravely. “Peter?”

“Ned will be okay, right?” Peter asks hesitantly, and Tony nods.

“He’s got the best surgeons in the world working on him, kid,” Tony says. “His parents will be here well before he wakes up. And when he does, I’ll be sure to bring you back here to see him. Okay?” Peter nods.

“Okay.” He says, rubbing his wrists where the web-shooters would typically lie. May casts a curious look at Peter’s wrists, then shakes her head.

“Peter, you want to ride with me?” May asks, and Peter nods hesitantly, looking up at Tony.

Tony smiles, patting Peter on the shoulder and giving him a light shove. “Go on, kid, get out of here,” Tony says. “Sam and I will follow you to the tower.” Peter and May exit the room and Tony turns to Sam, frowning. “You think Penumbra knows Peter’s identity?” Tony asks.

“I _know_ she does,” Sam replies. “She didn’t make a lucky guess, and Peter said she said his name when she first attacked him.” Sam shakes his head. “Penumbra thinks Peter is a threat. She won’t stop until he’s out of her way.”

“Yeah, well, I won’t stop, either,” Tony says, starting a brisk walk towards the door only to stop in his tracks. Tony turns around slowly, shaking his head. “I don’t have a car,” Tony says. “I flew here, and you teleported.”

“I can take us back.” Sam offers, and Tony hesitates.

“Deal.” He says. “I wanted to talk to you about something at the hospital, but I can do it at the tower instead.” Sam frowns but nods, holding out his hand. Tony takes it, and Sam teleports them both to the communal lounge.

“Well?” Sam asks, and Tony rounds the couch, eyeing Peter’s web-shooters as he takes a seat. Tony looks more than a little bit nervous, and Sam’s apprehension grows as Tony clearly struggles to broach whatever subject is on his mind. Sam flips through the possibilities in his head. Tony could be putting an end to Sam’s patrols or putting him on house arrest. What if he’s kicking Sam out of the tower?

When Tony takes a deep breath and finally opens his mouth, the words that come out are the last thing that Sam expects to hear.

“You should tell May Parker that you’re Darkside.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the late update! My internet went out yesterday and I was unable to access my drafts or this website. Again, sorry, and enjoy the chapter!

“What?” Sam asks in disbelief. He doesn’t think he heard Tony right. There’s _no_ _way_ he heard Tony right.

“You should tell May that you’re Darkside,” Tony repeats, and there’s no way Sam misheard him twice in a row.

“Are you serious?” Sam asks, and Tony nods, mouth set in a thin line.

“May knows that Peter is Spider-Man. Walked in on him in his suit, actually, but that’s another story.” Tony says. “She’ll probably trust you a lot more if she knows you’re Manhattan’s hero, not just... well, you.”

“Terrorist me?” Sam asks rhetorically. “Tony, she’ll only like me better until she finds out it’s my fault Penumbra is trying to kill Peter. Then she’ll probably kill me.”

Tony shakes his head. “May won’t kill you. She might hurt you, but she won’t kill you.”

“Thanks, that’s very reassuring.”

“I’m serious,” Tony says. He picks up one of Peter’s web-shooters, manipulating it in his hands. Sam bites the inside of his cheek, watching silently as Tony thinks. “You can trust May,” Tony says after a minute, looking up at Sam. “At the very least, you have to try.” Tony hesitates, then drops the web-shooter back onto the couch and stands, staring Sam down. “I want May to know that I’m not the only one keeping an eye on Peter. I want her to know that should Penumbra attack again, someone is protecting him who can literally be at his side in an instant.”

Sam wants to resist, wants to keep his identity the closely-guarded secret it never really was. But Tony knows Sam too well. He knows what buttons he needs to push. And framing this as something that puts May’s mind at ease—as something that could, in the long run, help Peter—is an incredibly convincing argument. Tony knows that Sam is prone to putting others before himself. And he’s using that to convince Sam to give in. 

Sam wants to be angry, but the best he can manage is a half-hearted glare. “Fine,” Sam says—after all, it’s his fault Penumbra is even going after Peter in the first place. He has to do whatever he can to mitigate the risks.

Tony breaks into a grin, walking over to the kitchen and opening the fridge. Sam follows behind, psyching himself up before he’s forced to tell Peter’s aunt his biggest secret. Tony pulls a water bottle out of the fridge and tosses it to Sam, then grabs another for himself.

“You’ll be okay, Sam,” Tony says, resting his elbows on the countertop. “Hell, this could be good for you. You need to work on talking to people, or you’ll never be able to give grand superhero speeches.” The comment is clearly meant to be sarcastic, but it hits Sam hard. Tony has no idea that Sam has seen Peter’s death in his visions, and it’s only because Sam won’t talk to him. Can’t talk to him. If anyone deserves to know Peter’s fate, it’s Tony. Tony, who dedicates his weekends to training Peter. Tony, who drops everything to take Peter’s calls. Tony, who has no biological children, but is far from childless.

Tony deserves the truth, but Sam has no idea how to give it.

The smile on Tony’s face looks wrong, with this secret weighing on Sam. And yet, it’s the very reason Sam has yet to say anything. Sam can’t bring himself to share the burden of the future. Not with someone who already carries so much weight.

Tony looks up, frowns, then turns back to the fridge, pulling out another water bottle and a juice box. “It’s a running gag,” Tony explains when Sam raises a questioning eyebrow. Tony nods to the juice box, a look of pure love in his eyes as he smiles. “Peter hates when I treat him like a little kid. So, of course, I go out of my way to do it.”

Sam almost opens his mouth and spills everything right there, but before he has a chance, JARVIS speaks up.

“The Parkers have arrived, Sir,” JARVIS says, and Tony nods to himself.

“Send ‘em up.”

Within thirty seconds, the elevator doors are opening, and Peter and May are walking into the communal lounge. When they see Tony and Sam at the bar, the two Parkers have entirely different reactions—Peter picks up his pace, jogging over to the bar and grabbing the juice box, but May stops in her tracks, eyes darting between her nephew, Tony, and Sam.

“May, come here,” Tony says politely, his tone even. May hesitates a moment longer, then walks over to the bar, taking the water bottle when Tony offers it and pointedly avoiding Sam’s gaze. “I have a proposition for you.” May looks up at this—as does Peter, who pauses in his attempts to pierce the juice box with its straw—and Tony glances at Sam, then turns his full attention to May. “I want you and Peter to stay in the tower.”

“How serious is this threat?” May asks immediately, setting her unopened water bottle down and crossing her arms.

“Penumbra is extremely powerful,” Tony says. “But I’m less concerned with her abilities than with her knowledge.” Peter’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head frantically, apparently against letting May know what it is that Penumbra knows. Sam expects Tony to just come out with it, but he pauses, then turns to Sam and nods. It takes Sam a good few seconds to realize what Tony is saying.

The first step in getting May to trust Sam is to let her know that Tony and Peter trust him.

“Penumbra knows that Peter is Spider-Man,” Sam says. “She attacked him at school while he was in plainclothes.”

“How do _you_ know who Peter is?” May asks, glaring not at Sam but at Tony, who raises his hands defensively. Sam isn’t really expecting Tony to defend him, but he’s a bit surprised nonetheless when all Tony does is pick up his water bottle and take a sip.

“I told him,” Peter says sharply, a surprising amount of irritation in his tone as he jumps to Sam’s defense. “I told him because I trust him. Because he’s not a terrorist, May, he’s a hero.”

May hesitates, clearly conflicted by Peter’s passionate defense and more than a little bit confused by his words. Sam clears his throat, drawing May’s eyes to him, then he flashes his eyes yellow once. At first, May jumps, clearly surprised, then realization fills her features, and she stares at Sam in utter disbelief.

“You’re… him. You’re _him_.” She says, and Sam nods.

“Yeah. I’m, uh… him.” He says. “Darkside.”

“Sam saved Peter and his friends today,” Tony speaks up. “He’s saved Peter before when Penumbra attacked him.”

“Penumbra’s attacked you before?” May asks, turning to Peter, who nods hesitantly.

“She, uh, wants to kill me,” Peter says awkwardly.

“Why?” May asks.

“Because of me,” Sam says, shaking his head when May turns to him expectantly. “I was given my powers by a… supervillain, about a year and a half ago. We’re pretty sure Penumbra was given hers in the same way. And that she was sent by the supervillain to capture me.”

“Penumbra attacked Sam a few weeks ago.” Tony continues. “Peter happened to be in the area, and was able to get Penumbra off of Sam long enough for Sam to get them both here.”

“And that’s an issue,” Sam says. “Because Peter hit Penumbra. And so far, no one else has been able to.”

“So she wants him dead because he can actually fight her?” May asks, and Sam nods.

“Peter is the one thing standing between Penumbra and her goal,” Sam confirms, looking down at the water bottle in his hands. The problem, of course, is that there’s a simple solution. One that would keep Peter safe, one that would prevent Penumbra from hurting anyone else.

If Sam gave himself up to Asmodeus, Penumbra would have no reason to kill Peter. No reason to bother any of the Avengers, or New York City.

“Anyway, I want you two to stay here with Sam and me until we can figure out how to stop her,” Tony says. Sam looks up and sees an expression of worry on Tony’s face, and figures that Tony sensed the shift in Sam’s mood. “Penumbra has yet to attack the tower or the Compound upstate, and even if she does, I’ll feel better if Peter is close by.”

May glances at Peter, then nods. “Let’s do it.” She says—much to Tony’s surprise if his expression is anything to go by. He must have expected more resistance. May’s eyes shift from Peter to Tony to Sam, and stay on Sam for a long moment. “Tony, why don’t you show Peter his room,” May says in a tone that leaves no room for argument. Tony and Peter head to the elevator, and as soon as the doors have closed, May turns her attention to Sam.

Sam averts his gaze, but May just steps closer, forcing him to look at her.

“This isn’t your fault,” May says sternly, her voice lightly scolding but with a hint of warmth. “You couldn’t have known that Peter would make himself a target.”

“But I could stop it.” Sam protests. “Penumbra doesn’t want me dead, she wants me captured. If I give myself up, all of this ends.”

“Don’t you dare.” The words are sharp, almost angry, and Sam actually flinches away from the heat behind them. May’s arms are crossed, and her eyes are narrowed, but she doesn’t look nearly as menacing as she did in the hospital. Sam figures that it’s probably because this time, she’s on Sam’s side rather than against him. “Don’t you ever give up your life for Peter’s. He’s lost too many people already, Sam, and I won’t let him lose you, too.” May hesitates, and a smile finds its way to her face. “Besides, he’s got enough self-sacrificing superheroes in his life without you doing it, too.” The light jab is clearly directed at Tony, and probably several other Avengers. Peter seems to have that effect on people—one conversation with Peter makes everyone want to protect him with their lives.

That must be stressful, knowing that so many people are willing to do anything to save you.

“Okay,” Sam says, and May quirks an eyebrow. “Okay, I get it.” Sam elaborates. “It isn’t my fault, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel like it is.” May nods at this, apparently satisfied. She picks up her unopened water bottle and turns on the ball of her foot, heading for the elevator only to pause a few feet away.

May turns back to Sam and smiles. “I was quick to judge based on what I thought I knew about you.” She says. “I was wrong. And anyone else who thinks that way is wrong, too. You’re a hero, Sam, no matter what anyone says.”

“No one is perfect,” Sam replies. “It’s hard to look past the flaws, especially mine.”

“No, no one is without their flaws.” May agrees, shaking her head. “But think of it this way. Tony Stark is an extremely flawed man. But to my nephew, Tony is a hero.” May nods to Sam, unscrewing her water bottle and taking a sip.

May offers Sam one last pearl of wisdom before she steps into the elevator, and it’s one that Sam doesn’t think he’ll soon forget.

“You may be flawed, but you’re still somebody’s hero.”


	22. Chapter 22

Sam knows, logically, that Peter Parker and Spider-Man being one and the same means that Peter retains Spider-Man’s wall-climbing abilities outside of his suit. Sam has seen Peter’s room at the Compound, heard Tony mention that Peter likes to read upside down. But he’s never actually seen it for himself—until, that is, two days after Peter and his aunt move into the tower.

Reconciling the knowledge of Peter’s permanent stickiness with the image of a 17-year-old eating popcorn and watching a movie while sitting upside down on the ceiling of the communal lounge is easier said than done.

The day had actually been overwhelmingly ordinary up until that point—Sam spent the morning in Tony’s lab, working on potential security updates to ward off Penumbra, then had lunch with Bucky, Steve, and Clint—but any semblance of normalcy goes out the window when Sam walks into the lounge to grab a water from the fridge and finds Peter sitting cross-legged on the ceiling, a bowl of popcorn hanging in a web hammock in front of him and Moana playing on the TV.

Sam’s first—and last—coherent thought on the matter is that someone probably should have warned him that Peter tended to watch movies upside down, not just read books. A few seconds later, Sam’s knees buckle beneath him.

Sam is trapped in a series of brutal memories before he hits the ground.

_ Sam feels a drop of something warm and wet hitting his forehead and his eyes fly open, revealing Jess’s cold blue eyes staring down at him. Blood continues to fall from the gash on her stomach, and Sam’s mouth opens to mirror hers, a silent scream escaping both of their lips in tandem. Sam scrambles backward but Jess remains still, staring at nothing. A moment later, fire explodes from Jess’s body, snaking across the ceiling, leaving trails of ash in its wake. When it reaches the walls, it runs down them, and soon all Sam can see is the fire, surrounding him, suffocating him. _

_ The temperature of the air rises until Sam can feel his skin blistering, and the fire races toward him, determined to burn him to ash. Sam stands still, frozen, as the flames brush against the hems of his jeans, trying to take hold. Once they do, they race upward, using Sam’s clothes as a vessel to carry them up, up, up the back of his shirt and up the fingers cemented to Sam’s sides. The fire catches on the end of Sam’s hair and turns it to brittle strands of coal, and when it reaches Sam’s faces it scorches his tongue—his mouth is still open, he’s still screaming—and races down his throat. _

_ “Mr. Sam!” A voice shouts, young, out of place, and for a brief moment, the pain ceases. Sam latches onto that voice, holding on as hard as he can as Jess screams in his ears and a sinister laugh approaches from behind the wall of flame, from somewhere Sam can’t see. Sam knows what’s happening—has experienced it far too many times by now—and he tries to hold on tight to that one piece of the real world, but it slips through his fingers as the flames part and shining red eyes stare directly into Sam’s. _

_ “Sam, Sam, Sam.” Says the devil himself, smoke obscuring all but those shining eyes. A flash of flame turns red eyes yellow, and the red flames turn to blood, dripping down ashy walls. Sam collapses into a chair, only for the metal arms to wrap around his wrists, chaining him down. Sam squeezes his eyes shut as Asmodeus draws near—there’s a syringe in his hand, filled with something dark and red—and prays that he can escape before it’s too late. _

“Mr. Sam!” The voice is worried but bright, and Sam opens his eyes to see soft brown eyes hovering far too close. Sam flinches away, eyes flashing yellow, and a pair of hands yank the confused kid away before Sam has a chance to warn him. Lucifer’s laugh echoes in the back of Sam’s mind and he throws his hands out, sending plates flying off of the breakfast bar and the nearest couch flipping onto its back. Sam crosses his arms and tucks his hands in his armpits, balling them into fists and shaking his head repeatedly as he tries to remember what exactly was going on before his episode—where he was, when he was,  _ who _  he was.

“You’re safe, Sasquatch.” Tony’s voice is soft but hesitant, his attention split between the emotionally-charged vigilante coming off a panic attack and the scared and confused teenager watching from a safe distance away, both feet now planted firmly on the tile floor.

It’s been a while since Sam was pushed so brutally into a memory, and even longer since he last remembers lashing out the way he did. Sam imagines that his recent memory issues might be at blame, or perhaps the stress surrounding the entire situation with Penumbra. But there’s no doubt that the trigger was Peter’s positioning on the ceiling—a rare but potent reminder of one of the worst moments of Sam’s life.

“Sor… Sorry.” Sam mumbles, looking past Tony at Peter. “Can… Can’t hel… Can’t help it.” It takes a minute for Sam’s mouth to remember how to speak, to realize that his throat, while sore, is still intact, without a trace of the flames that forced their way into Sam’s lungs.

“What happened?” Tony follows Sam’s gaze to Peter, apparently taking Sam’s words—jumbled as they are—as a sign that he’s recovering nicely from the unexpected attack of his past.

“I was watching Moana when I heard a loud crash, and I turned around and Sam was on the ground. He looked like he was having a seizure. Jerking around a lot.” Peter squirms a bit to illustrate his point. “I called his name a few times, but he wasn’t responding at all, so I called you.” Peter pauses, meeting Sam’s eye and biting his lip before turning his attention back to Tony. “Is he okay?”

Tony hesitates, casting a worried look in Sam’s direction. “He will be, kiddo.” Tony decides, taking Peter’s arm and leading him over to where Sam is struggling to his feet. Once he’s standing, Sam walks over to the nearest flat surface—the coffee table—and sits down again, sighing.

“Sorry, Peter,” Sam says. “For scaring you.” Sam swallows hard, shaking his head. “That doesn’t usually happen. I’m not totally sure what it was.”

“Vision?” Tony asks, but Sam shakes his head.

“Memories.” He explains. “Nothing from the future. Just the past.” Sam bites the inside of his cheek. “I’ll be okay. Promise.” Sam doesn’t really mean what he says—he can’t promise that he’ll be okay, because he has no idea what went wrong in the first place. The instability Sam experienced after he first escaped Asmodeus a year and a half ago appears to be making a return, and Sam doesn’t want to think about the implications of that. He hates that he might be devolving, especially right now, when the stakes are so high.

When Peter’s life hangs in the balance.

“I could use a distraction,” Sam says, sending Tony a significant look. “Why don’t we head up to Tony’s lab, maybe try to develop some webs you can use against Penumbra?”

“I thought my webs already worked on her,” Peter says, confused.

Sam shakes his head. “They hit her, but they didn’t do anything other than confuse her,” Sam explains. “Just being able to land is a starting point, but we need to make some improvements. We should figure out how to make them stick longer, for one thing, and maybe even hurt her.”

Peter looks more than a little bit hesitant—as does Tony, for that matter—but he nods his head, walking over to the elevator. Sam turns to follow but Tony reaches out, his hand inches from Sam’s shoulder before his fingers curl in and he apparently thinks better of touching Sam.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Tony asks. Sam almost laughs at the absurdity of the question. He can’t remember ever being okay, not really. But then, that’s not what Tony was really asking.

“I’m good,” Sam says. Not good as in okay, not with visions and memories chasing each other around Sam’s head at all hours. Not good as in happy, not with Penumbra stalking Sam and threatening the people he cares about. But standing here, with Tony in front of him radiating concern and Peter in the elevator radiating sunshine, Sam is good. Good as in good enough.

And right now, he’ll take whatever good he can get. 

* * *

Despite everything, within the first hour of Peter, Tony, and Sam heading up to Tony’s lab, Sam is actually laughing.

They decided to start by making adjustments to Peter’s existing webs using what little Sam knows about the weaknesses of daevas. They started with light, throwing ideas about how to add light to Peter’s web fluid without changing everything else about it for a while and running a few simulations with Tony’s holograms that failed spectacularly. But what has Sam laughing is the result of an ill-advised attempt to test one of the few reasonable ideas in real life—a complete failure, but one that resulted in Peter accidentally webbing Tony to the ceiling.

“Hey, Sasquatch, mind giving me a hand?” Tony asks, waving angrily in Sam’s direction with his right hand while his left fights against the webbing holding it up. Tony’s chest and left hand are firmly attached to the ceiling by webs that are glowing faintly yellow—thanks to some glowing paint Tony had been messing with—but his legs are hanging free, dangling down. Peter is on his back, laughing like a maniac and hugging his stomach, web-shooters discarded on the table beside him. Sam lifts his hands, holding Tony in place with one and picking Peter up with the other. Sam lifts Peter to Tony’s level, and the teen stops laughing long enough to free Tony from the webs.

Sam lowers both heroes to the ground, and as soon as Tony’s feet hit the floor, he’s turning on his heel to glare at Peter, who wilts under Tony’s sharp gaze.

“Let’s not do that again, alright?” Tony suggests, his stern tone faltering. A moment later, Tony is the one laughing hysterically, apparently finding the humor in the situation now that he’s back on his feet.

“It didn’t really work, anyway,” Sam admits, pulling a strand of webbing off of Tony’s shoulder and rubbing his hand over it. Sam turns his hand outward to show Tony and Peter the paint streaking his palm, then the clear patch on the web. “The paint rubs off too easily. It’s all over Tony’s clothes, too.”

“Won’t that help?” Peter asks while Tony looks down at his chest and, upon finding that he is indeed covered in glowing paint, scowls at his shirt. “I mean, don’t we want Penumbra to be hit by the light?”

“I don’t think glowing paint is the kind of light that actually works,” Sam admits. “When Dean and my dad and I fought a few daevas, we used a flare to fend them off. The kind that could blind someone who looked at it.”

“So what you’re saying is, we need enough light that shadows couldn’t physically exist,” Tony says.

Sam nods. “Exactly. And since we’ll probably be running into Penumbra somewhere in the city, that’s pretty much impossible to achieve.” Sam pauses, frowning. “As long as she has access to shadows, she can probably get herself out of anything we throw at her.”

“Then why did my webs work?” Peter asks.

“Honestly? I have no idea.” Sam admits. “All I know is that they did. That they do. I’m not an expert on daevas by any means, but I’ve got Jody asking around to see if anyone has any ideas for how to fight Penumbra. For now, I’m banking on the fact that your webs work.”

“Maybe it’s her human side,” Tony suggests, pulling up the video footage of Penumbra turning into her human form and playing it a few times. “When Penumbra is in her shadow form, she isn’t solid. Attacks go right through her. But we know that she can grab Sam, and can cut Peter.”

“Daevas can cut things, and push things, but I’ve definitely never seen them do any grabbing,” Sam admits. “Nothing that would require three dimensions.”

“Penumbra has a third dimension when she’s attacking,” Tony says. “Sending out those plumes of smoke makes her vulnerable.”

“And when she was choking me, she was almost entirely solid.” Sam realizes. “She was leveraging all of her strength into choking me, and it made her corporeal. Same goes for when I knocked her into the wall when she attacked Peter. She was gearing up to attack, so she had a solid form.”

“It isn’t my webs, it’s the surprise factor,” Peter says. “I hit her because she wasn’t expecting it, not because there’s something special about my webs.”

“There still might be,” Sam replies, walking over to Tony’s hologram table and sketching out an idea with his fingers. “Penumbra is smart, smart enough to avoid the tower and to lay traps for us. She won’t make the mistake of being completely corporeal again. But Peter might still have an advantage that the rest of us don’t.” Sam throws the image up into the air, showing Tony and Peter a giant glowing web, flattened against a wall. “The rest of us can only hit a small area at a time. But with the right adjustments, Peter can literally blanket every surface with webbing.”

“We could trap whatever small part of Penumbra is actually corporeal,” Tony says, stepping forward and twisting the image in his hands. “She’d just be able to break free by going full shadow again, though.”

“Unless she had nowhere to go,” Sam says. “I thought it was strange, when Penumbra first attacked me, that after Peter hit her and she teleported away, she didn’t just vanish. She tried to attack again. But now, I think she can’t really teleport at all. We just  _ thought _  she did.”

“She was traveling through the shadows,” Peter says, and Sam nods.

“Exactly.” He says. “Peter being able to blanket a wall is only a temporary fix in most cases. It will disrupt Penumbra’s attacks, give us enough time to get out of the area. But once we’ve made webbing so tightly woven that there are no holes in it, we can trap Penumbra.”

Peter’s eyes widen. “A web cocoon.” He says, catching on to Sam’s idea. “We can surround her with webbing, then she has no shadow path.”

“And once she’s captured, we can put her anywhere with no shadowed exits, and she won’t be able to escape,” Sam adds.

“But Peter’s webs will probably just go through any non-corporeal parts of her.” Tony points out. “How do we get her inside?”

Sam shrugs. “Somehow, we have to get her to be completely corporeal. But that can come later. For now, we just need to work on getting Peter’s webs as tightly woven as possible. It could be key in thwarting her next attack.” What Sam doesn’t say is that the stakes are much higher than that. Creating these webs as soon as possible will equip Peter with a way to defend himself against Penumbra.

And that might just be enough to change Sam’s vision. That might just be enough to keep Peter alive.


	23. Chapter 23

A blast of hot June air hits Sam in the face as soon as he opens the door of the car, and Sam grimaces.

It’s the hottest June 17th in the history of New York City, and the corner of Central Park where Tony took Sam is void of all life, humans and animals alike deciding to stay home rather than brave the sweltering heat. Unfortunately, that lack of crowds is what made Tony decide that today was the perfect day for the Avengers to have a day out—fewer people meant less chance of an incident similar to the one that happened after Bucky’s first day of court.

Today was another such day—the first of at least a week of witness testimonial, the group hand-selected by the prosecution due to their relationship with the Winter Soldier. It was undoubtedly difficult for Bucky to sit through a retelling of one of the Winter Soldier’s hits, and Sam figures that’s one of the reasons Tony was so insistent that Sam join him to meet Bucky, Steve, and Sam Wilson in Central Park for lunch and a nice chat.

As he follows Tony toward a copse of trees with a picnic table in the shade beneath it, Sam almost wishes he had requested that the meeting be moved to the tower. Paranoid of an attack, Sam was hesitant to leave his Darkside uniform behind, and while he did eventually give up on his jacket, he’s still wearing a pair of dark jeans that do nothing to stop the heat.

“Heya, kid,” Bucky says once Sam and Tony arrive at the table, where Bucky, Steve, and Wilson are waiting. The latter two heroes are in the middle of a quiet conversation about the trial, which Tony is quick to join, leaving Bucky and Sam alone. “You feeling alright?”

“I’m fine,” Sam says—Tony surely told Bucky and the others about Sam’s incident the previous Friday, and this is the first opportunity they’ve had to ask Sam directly about it. “I swear.”

“So you keep saying,” Bucky says skeptically, crossing his arms. The metal of his left arm reflects the sun into Sam’s eyes and Sam takes a step into the shadows to avoid the glare. “I don’t believe you, kid. You ain’t a liar, but you ain’t telling the truth, either.” Sam can tell that Bucky is more than a little bit uncomfortable himself—his Brooklyn accent comes out strong when he’s stressed, and it’s clear right now. Rather than change the subject, Sam figures that he should actually give Bucky a straight answer, if only to help ease some of Bucky’s stress.

“I haven’t had another episode like the one at the compound,” Sam says. “No more missing memories. And Peter just caught me off guard the other day. Brought up old feelings that kind of spiraled. I got over it, and we made some significant progress on how to fight Penumbra.” Sam and Tony dedicated their weekend to synthesizing various web fluid formulas, testing them with a pair of web-shooters Tony had in his lab. While they didn’t have a definitive working formula, it was a start.

And with the nightmares Sam is still having of Peter’s death looming over him, any amount of progress is a good thing.

“Have you told him?” Bucky asks, eyes darting to the three superheroes standing at the other end of the picnic table. Sam knows exactly what Bucky is asking, and he shakes his head, looking down at his hands. “Tony needs to know, kid,” Bucky says softly. “He needs to be able to prepare. To save Peter, and to save you.” Bucky’s voice is barely a whisper, and Sam takes comfort in knowing that Bucky will harbor Sam’s secret until Sam tells him otherwise.

“I can’t.” Sam insists, his argument weak and his resolve even weaker. “I can’t destroy him that way. These visions are my burden, Bucky, not Tony’s.”

“They don’t have to be yours alone,” Bucky says sympathetically, shaking his head. “But I get it. Wilson’s been telling me for ages to share my memories with someone once I remember them. Keeps suggesting Steve, but there’s no way in hell I’m doing that.” Bucky glances at Steve, then smiles wistfully. “I know he could handle it, but I don’t want him to have to. I figure you feel the same way.”

Sam nods. “But it isn’t just Tony.” He admits, earning him a curious look from Bucky. “There’s one thing I didn’t mention about my vision,” Sam admits, dragging the words out as he tries to decide whether or not to go through with saying them. “I know who it is that kills me,” Sam says. “Well, who shoots me.”

“I thought you were stabbed,” Bucky says, and Sam shakes his head.

“Shot.” He says. “With an—“

Sam is cut off by a loud crack and he and Bucky both look up, watching as a sizable branch on the tree directly above Steve, Tony, and Wilson starts to fall. Sam reaches out unthinkingly, throwing the branch to the side, where it slams into the trunk of another tree. Steve, Tony, and Wilson all dive out of the way, running over to Bucky and Sam. All five of them step out of the shadows cast by the trees, likely sharing the same uncomfortable thought about who—or what—was responsible.

The shadows solidify on top of the picnic table, and the form of a young woman begins to take shape, sitting on the edge with her ankles crossed. The shape vanishes before Sam can get a good look, and Sam casts a frantic look around the park. Once he’s confident that no civilians are in the immediate area, Sam pulls his mask out of his back pocket and ties it around his face, then turns on his demon sight and tries to track Penumbra’s movements.

“She’s circling us,” Sam informs his friends. Tony is looking toward the sky, likely awaiting the arrival of an Iron Man suit. Sam keeps the group updated until Tony’s armor arrives, bringing with it Steve’s shield and Wilson’s wings. All three heroes are quick to prepare themselves, and Sam keeps his eyes on Penumbra, uneasily watching her weave between the trees.

“Anything?” Tony asks, mask closing and adding a metallic overtone to his voice.

“She’s just… waiting.” Sam says hesitantly, unsure of what exactly Penumbra is planning. This is the first time he’s ever seen her when Peter wasn’t around—and while Sam knows that Peter is the only one who can actually fight Penumbra, he’s sincerely hoping that she doesn’t.

“Is it the shadows?” Tony asks, and Sam looks around, realizing that thanks to the sun high in the sky, there are no shadows between where the five men are grouped and the trees Penumbra is lurking in.

“Maybe,” Sam says, unwilling to give a definitive answer about anything when it comes to Penumbra. There’s too much he doesn’t know.

“What do we do?” Steve asks, casting a concerned look in Bucky’s direction. Bucky, who is wearing his usual jacket with one sleeve taken off, looks a bit pale, likely from the heat.

That’s when Sam realizes what Penumbra is doing.

“She’s waiting for us to get too hot,” Sam says, shaking his head. “She knows we’re safe in the sun, at least from her. But we aren’t safe from heatstroke.” Sam frowns, considering the options. “We have to go into the shadows now. If we wait, we’ll just be weaker.”

“Let’s do it,” Tony says, his voice tinny but determined. Steve tightens the strap of his shield and Wilson opens his wings, flying straight up into the air.

“Darkside, you’re the lookout.” Steve orders. “Stay in the sun as long as you can and report Penumbra’s location. Sam, you’re air support. Stark, protect Buck.” Sam points in Penumbra’s direction and Steve runs at her, while Tony and Bucky head the opposite way. Sam watches Penumbra move around the circle, a faint glowing trail left behind. Sam isn’t entirely sure what it is until it wraps around Steve’s free arm and throws him up into the air. Sam winces as Steve falls, slamming into the picnic table and cracking it down the middle.

“Tony, on your left!” Sam warns, and Tony turns and fires a palm blaster at Penumbra. Sam can’t tell if the attack misses or just goes right through Penumbra, but either way, she isn’t stopped for long. “Damn it,” Sam mutters under his breath, lifting his hand and holding it out, trying to grab Penumbra. She pauses, apparently captured, then the soul fades into nothing and Sam curses. “I lost her. Be careful.” Sam warns, walking over to Steve and helping him stand. The grass rustles behind Sam and he whips his head around, only to see two civilians standing between the trees, staring at Sam and Steve in utter disbelief. They’re clearly tourists—the man has a camera around his neck and the woman is holding a Central Park brochure.

“Get out of here,” Steve warns, nodding to Sam, who turns his attention back to the shadows and spots a growing light behind Bucky, who is seated at another picnic table beside Tony.

Sam doesn’t have time to shout a warning before a strand of shadow wraps around Bucky’s neck, pulling him backward.

“Argh!” Bucky grunts, hands grasping at the shadow around his throat. He wraps his metal fingers around the shadowy noose and tries to pull it off, to no avail—not even Bucky’s strength seems to be a match for Penumbra.

“Can we get her off?!” Steve asks worriedly, sprinting across the clearing with Sam on his heels. Steve throws his shield, which slams into the tree behind Penumbra’s glowing form. Sam skids to a stop and frowns, disabling his demon sight and squinting into the shadows. Last time Penumbra pulled this move, Peter was able to hit her. Maybe she’ll make the same mistake again.

Little by little, Penumbra’s form grows darker and clearer as she tightens her grip. Steve, Tony, and Wilson all look expectantly at Sam but he shakes his head, waiting until Penumbra begins to take on a clear human form before he turns sharply to Tony.

“Palm!” Sam orders and Tony fires both palm blasters, hitting Penumbra square in the back. An unnatural scream rips through the air and Penumbra releases Bucky, shoving him into the picnic table and dissipating. Sam switches back into his demon sight, but it’s too late—Penumbra has vanished.

However, she’s far from the only problem.

“Nyet.” A quiet voice says, and Sam turns in horror to Bucky, who is pushing himself to his feet, head low and eyes dark. Penumbra’s attack woke up the Winter Soldier, and he doesn’t look happy.

“Buck?” Steve asks as the Soldier looks around, eyes falling on something between Sam and Wilson, who has landed to his left. Sam turns, following the Soldier’s gaze to the three glowing figures across the clearing—the two tourists and Penumbra, who is waiting patiently behind them in the shadows, her form just dark enough to be visible to anyone who knows to look.

The Soldier charges across the clearing, bowling Sam and Wilson over on his path to Penumbra. Steve and Tony both shout in alarm as Sam and Wilson jump to their feet, and all four chase after the Soldier. Sam throws up his hand as the Soldier swats the two tourists to the side, lunging for Penumbra, who dissipates right before the Soldier makes contact.

“She’s gone,” Sam says, confident that Penumbra has disappeared for good—or at least, for now. The Soldier stands and Sam freezes him in place with both hands, nodding to Steve, Tony, and Wilson to approach. Steve heads for Bucky but Tony and Wilson turn their attention to the tourists, each helping one to their feet.

“JARVIS, call an ambulance.” Tony’s voice rings across the clearing, and Sam steps closer and realizes that the female tourist is holding a clearly-broken arm against her chest. In his quest to get to Penumbra, the Soldier accidentally broke the woman’s arm.

Which does no good for Bucky’s trial.

Sam recalls the Demon’s warning from over a year ago, about how if Sam failed to meet his demands, he’d target Sam’s friends instead. It’s a popular move in any demon’s playbook, and Sam doubts that Asmodeus is any different.

Penumbra wasn’t here to fight Sam. She was here to trigger the Soldier, to make him do exactly what he just did. She came to the park to put Bucky’s trial in jeopardy.

Penumbra isn’t going after Sam anymore. She’s going after his friends.


	24. Chapter 24

The Avengers have good days and bad days, just like everyone else. Sometimes Tony has a nightmare so bad that his hands won't stop shaking for a week. Sometimes Natasha comes home from a mission in Russia and locks herself in her room for several days, refusing to speak to anyone but Clint. Sometimes a mission fails. Sometimes lives are lost.

But today, today just might be the worst day any of the Avengers have ever had.

The trial of the Winter Soldier, despite being the third landmark case in a year, has garnered more media attention than Sam could ever have imagined. Forced to stop attending the weekly court sessions—if the prosecution had their way, the case would meet daily, but the judge made an exception so the Avengers didn't have to dedicate all of their time to the case and could instead focus on the increasingly common alien invasions in Eastern Europe—after the incident with the mourning brothers on the first day, Sam fully expected to never be able to support Bucky in person again. That is, until last week when Bucky, Steve, and Matt approached Sam, nerves flying off of all three of them, and asked if Darkside would be willing to attend court for one day.

Today is that day.

And so the day begins with the procession of Avengers, as the media have dubbed it: a single-file line of heroes with Clint Barton at the front showing off the pen in his pocket that everyone knows he could use to kill and Natasha Romanoff at the back glaring daggers at anyone who looks toward the center of the pack—the Avengers are screened at the door just like everyone else, but there's no doubt in anyone's mind that Natasha smuggles in at least one gun regardless, and not even the prosecution is willing to call her out on it. And right in the center of the pack, with Steve on one side and Sam Wilson on the other, Bucky walks into the courtroom with his head low, his metal arm secured firmly to his side by one of Tony's inventions—a workaround of the no weapons rule since Bucky's arm is both a weapon and not feasibly removable. On the first day of the trial, Sam walked right behind Bucky, another attempt to draw the eyes of the public away from him. Today, Sam walks beside Natasha, drawing eyes for a much different reason.

The Avengers—Bucky included—are dressed in plainclothes, even if those clothes are from Tony's high tech line. Sam is in full Darkside garb, down to his black mask and piercing yellow eyes.

* * *

With Bucky secured to the chair and Sam on standby, Steve starts to read the words with a grimace.

Following the incident in the park, the public opinion of Bucky dropped downhill, and fast. Matt and Foggy’s main argument had been that Bucky and the Winter Soldier were separate entities—that Bucky was not a danger, and that, more importantly, he couldn’t be held accountable for what the Winter Soldier did. But Penumbra’s attack gave the prosecutor something he hadn’t had before: proof that Bucky and the Soldier weren’t entirely separate. Proof that the Soldier sat just beneath the surface, and was just as dangerous as ever.

It had been the judge’s idea to force the defense to demonstrate just how easy it was to call forward the Winter Soldier.

When the Avengers found out that Bucky was going to have to go through this, they all volunteered to be the ones to read the trigger words—and Natasha, as the only native Russian speaker, seemed like the obvious choice. But Bucky insisted that it be Steve, said he wouldn't let anyone else be the one to do it. Wouldn't let anyone else become coded in as a handler. And, heartbroken as he must have been, Steve agreed without hesitation.

"Желание." 

Steve begins slowly, taking care to pronounce the Russian words—they weren't sure if the trigger words would work in English and so decided to use them in Russian to be safe—correctly as Bucky closes his eyes, breathing deeply.

"Ржавый." 

A pause. The courtroom is so quiet that Sam can hear the heartbeats of everyone in the area—they’re all fast, everyone’s veins filled with adrenaline, or anticipation, or fear.

"Семнадцать." 

Bucky's metal fist clenches around the arm of the chair, and Sam prepares himself. Darkside’s role in this is simple—if either Bucky or the Winter Soldier breaks free, Sam has to hold him down. Keep him in place, so that Steve can destroy his mind.

"Рассвет.”

Sam was on trial five months ago for terrorism, and his brother was wrongfully convicted last year. But at this moment, seeing Bucky’s pain, Sam has never hated the court more.

“Печь." 

Bucky’s fingers curl even tighter, and the sound of crunching metal fills the otherwise silent room as Bucky’s metal arm destroys the edge of the supposedly indestructible chair. Steve swallows hard, glancing at Sam, who nods. They have to get through this. They  _will_  get through this. 

"Девять." 

After a moment, Steve continues, although it obviously pains him to do so. Bucky is sweating buckets, leaning hard against the back of the seat. His metal hand is flat, fingers straight out, as he tries to resist the urge to break the seat further.

"Добросердечный.” 

Bucky presses his head into the back of the chair, grimacing and squeezing his eyes tightly shut. He’s trying to hide his strength, to make himself seem less dangerous. Sam can sympathize. But today, there’s nothing he can do.

“Возвращение на родину." 

Bucky clenches his fist once again, and his other fist clenches as well. Both of his arms strain against the metal cuffs holding them down. Sam watches worriedly as the bolts begin to strain. 

"Один." 

Bucky's eyes snap open and he growls, yanking his metal arm up harshly. The metal cuff snaps and Bucky tears the other cuff off, glaring at Steve and at the book in his hands.

"No! Nyet!" Bucky roars, his voice piercing through the silence of a courtroom that doesn't dare draw a breath. Bucky takes a step toward Steve and Sam lifts his hands, freezing his friend in place. Bucky glares daggers at Steve, pulling against Sam with all of his might, but he doesn't move, doesn't break free. Sam nods to Steve, his eyes flashing yellow as Bucky continues to fight his hold. Steve takes a deep breath and looks down at the book rather than at Bucky's eyes. Steve is extremely pale, and Sam can see his hands shaking, but with another deep breath, Steve closes his eyes and nods, resigned to finishing what he’s started.

"Грузовой вагон." 

As soon as the final word leaves Steve’s mouth, Bucky stops fighting Sam's hold. Sam lowers his arms and the Soldier straightens, still staring directly at Steve—but everything else is different. Bucky’s back is as straight as a ruler, his hands are flat against his sides, and the panicked, angry look of before has been replaced by the cold eyes of a killing machine. 

Steve shuts the notebook, and about half of the room jumps at the sound, jarring in the silent room. “Soldier?" Steve asks, his voice shaking.

"Da. Ready to comply." The Winter Soldier replies, and everyone in the room watches in mute disbelief as the Soldier lowers his head, under Steve's complete control.

"Now disable the programming." The judge orders, and Steve and Sam—along with the seated Avengers and the two defense attorneys—turn to stare at him in varying degrees of disbelief. "We need to continue the trial."

"You can't turn it off," Matt says, standing and drawing the eyes of everyone in the room. "Once the programming is activated, the Winter Soldier remains in control until Sergeant Barnes can fight him off. Every time the programming is triggered, Sergeant Barnes must wage a war in his mind."

"And long will this take?" The prosecutor asks, sounding annoyed at the prospect.

"Hours if not days," Steve says angrily, and the Winter Soldier lifts his head upon hearing Steve's voice. "Bucky will wake up in a day or so with no memory of this conversation, I can tell you that right now. He barely remembers what the Soldier did, gets memories in flashes of deaths he wasn't responsible for. This right here should be proof enough that Bucky isn't guilty, that he and the Soldier are not the same.” Steve pauses, color returning to his face and quickly becoming oversaturated. “But you know what? Neither is the Soldier. He’s programmed to follow orders. The Winter Soldier is incapable of killing of his own will. Every order he carried out during his years under Soviet command was just that: an order.”

“Captain Rogers—“

“Bucky is innocent.” Steve cuts the judge off and shakes his head. “What happened last week in the park wasn’t Bucky, it was a supervillain. The Winter Soldier wasn’t trying to hurt that civilian. He was trying to protect himself, and the rest of those present.”

“He’s a danger to everyone around him.” The prosecutor argues. “He may have been trying to protect himself, but that tourist was still hurt. Collateral damage is still damage.”

“And Bucky feels guilty as hell about it!” Steve exclaims. “He hates what the Winter Soldier has done, and he tries every day to make up for it. And as long as we keep standing here arguing about what the Soldier did, Bucky doesn’t get to move on.”

“Neither do the families of the people he killed.” The prosecutor replies coldly. “Just ask your friend Mr. Stark. Or did the Winter Soldier not kill his parents?”

“Order!” The judge shouts, banging his gavel on the bench and glaring at Steve, the prosecutor, and Tony—who is frozen halfway out of his seat, likely prepared to join the argument—in turn. “Enough. If Sergeant Barnes is unfit to be present for the rest of the day, the court will be adjourned until next week.” With another hit of the gavel, the decision is finalized. The prosecutor mutters under his breath about how much heat he’s going to get for arguing with a national hero, and after the judge and jury leave the room, the rest of those present begin to filter out. Most of them are casting wary glances in the Soldier’s direction, so Sam lifts his hands, pointing them in the Soldier’s direction. He doesn’t actually use his telekinesis, but the simple act of pretending he has clearly puts the remaining non-superhero presence at ease—including the prosecutor, who finishes gathering his things and nods stiffly to Sam before exiting the courtroom.

Once the superheroes are the only ones left in the room, Sam drops his hands and joins his friends. He knows perfectly well how dangerous the Soldier is, but he also knows how easily the Soldier can be controlled, and how complacent he is once it happens.

“I feel terrible for doing this to him,” Steve says, leaning against the table Matt and Foggy are seated behind. Steve is staring at Bucky, sorrow and a few tears in his eyes. “I know he wanted me to, but still… It hurts him so much, and every time he comes back to himself, he’s exhausted.”

“He’ll be okay,” Sam says. “We all will.”

“Not until this is over,” Tony says, joining the conversation. “The trial, Penumbra, all of it.” Tony glances at the Soldier, then shakes his head. “The Soldier deserves to pay for his crimes, but unless we can put him in another body, I won’t let it happen.” Tony appraises Steve, then, a grin stretching across his face. “Good on you for putting it to the man. That prosecutor is a piece of work.” Tony slaps Steve on the back, and Steve scowls. “Oh, and I’m proud of you. Cursing in court, and you weren’t immediately struck down by the gods. Told ya you could do it.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Steve says, choosing not to dignify Tony’s comment with a response. “We need to get the Soldier back to the Tower, anyway.”

“True,” Tony says. “I’ll get a path cleared to your suite. Fair warning, Spider-Kid’s been using your living room for movie night. Don’t freak out if you find a few spare webs hanging around.” Steve shakes his head and walks away, ordering the Soldier to follow him. As Steve exits the courtroom, the Soldier falls in line behind him, and Natasha, Clint, and Wilson join them. Soon, Sam and Tony are the only ones in the courtroom.

“Does Mrs. Parker know about the Soldier?” Sam asks, and Tony nods.

“I told her what to expect.” He says. “She’s a little hesitant, but she understands. She and Peter will probably be in their rooms, though.”

Sam frowns. “Did you mean what you said, about the Soldier?”

“Every word.” Tony smiles and shakes his head. “The Winter Soldier did some unforgivable things, the least of which was killing my parents. But Barnes didn’t. And from what I’ve learned living with him over the past year or so, he  _wouldn’t_.” Tony gestures to the courtroom at large. “Last year, your brother sat in a room just like this and was handed a life sentence he didn’t deserve. I won’t let that happen again.”

“You know, six months ago, we were both in this exact courtroom, listening to the closing arguments on my trial.” Sam comments. A lot has happened in six months. “I really thought we were going to lose.”

“Well, we didn’t,” Tony says. “That day, the jury got it right. Hopefully, that streak will continue.” Sam nods, looking around the room and remembering the fear in the pit of his stomach six months ago, as the prosecutor in his case argued one last time that Sam deserved to be jailed for a terrorist bombing. The fact that anyone would believe that Sam killed so many people in cold blood pained him to his core, and it still does. Hopefully, one day, Sam will be able to convince the world that he and Dean aren’t the monsters they’ve been painted as. Hopefully, one day, Bucky will have the same fortune Sam did. Hopefully, one day, Bucky’s trial will be over, and Penumbra will be dealt with, and Dean will be free.

Hopefully, one day, all of this will be over.


	25. Chapter 25

The rain beats down on Sam’s head and shoulders as he steps out of Avengers Tower and looks out over the city. It’s humid and muggy, and the clouds obscure the moon, plunging the city into near-darkness interrupted only by the neon lights of the city. Sam runs a hand through his hair, already slick with water, and contemplates turning around and heading back inside. In weather like this, everything is made more dangerous, and crime-fighting doubly so. But Manhattan’s criminals won’t take the night off just because of a little rain, so Sam can’t, either.

And besides, Matt is waiting for him.

Sam teleports from rooftop to rooftop, keeping his eyes and ears open but encountering nothing of particular importance before he reaches Matt’s apartment, where the other vigilante is patiently waiting, head cocked to the side. Sam knows that the rain impedes Matt’s ability to sense his surroundings, but that’s never stopped Matt before and Sam doubts it will start tonight. Still, Sam should be careful.

In weather like this, everything is a little more dangerous.

“You good to go?” Sam asks, practically shouting to make his voice heard over the pounding rain. Sam’s latest uniform is thankfully waterproof, but he finds himself envying Daredevil’s helmet. Matt stands and rubs his chin, flicking a drop of water off of his finger and nodding. Rather than speak, Matt gestures in the direction he plans to go then walks over to the edge of the roof and jumps. Sam teleports to the next roof, appearing just as Matt lands, rolling onto his feet and scuffing his boots against the concrete. It’s then that Sam realizes that Matt is testing the city—making sure that he can feasibly get around without hurting himself.

“Let’s go,” Matt says, his voice quieter than Sam’s but still loud enough to be heard. Rather than continue to the next roof, Matt points at his feet, then holds out his hand. Sam takes it and teleports them both to the ground, watching as Matt turns in a circle to reorient himself. Sam takes a moment to do a sweep of the immediate area, and his gaze locks on a pair of figures standing in the next alley over, their stances suggesting that they aren’t having a friendly conversation.

Sam taps on Matt’s shoulder, drawing Matt’s attention. “Something is going on in the next alley over.”

Matt nods and steps into the street, hand inching toward his billy club. Sam trails behind, keeping his eyes on the figures as they approach each other. Matt and Sam have just stepped around the corner when one figure lunges forward and tackles the other to the ground.

“Hey!” Sam shouts, running forward and pulling the attacker off of his victim. They’re both young men, probably in their twenties, the attacker blond and the victim brunet, but Sam can’t tell much of anything else in the downpour. “Cut it out,” Sam says, dropping the blond on his feet and turning around to find Matt helping the brunet stand. Both young men are scowling, tension rolling off of them in waves. Matt looks confused, head still cocked to one side, and Sam strains his ears, listening to the four heartbeats in the alley.

Sam’s own heart is beating a little faster than normal, but it’s by far the slowest. The two young men’s hearts are racing—but what worries Sam is that Matt’s is, too. He’s anticipating something, but what?

The brunet’s heart rate spikes and he pulls a gun out of his pocket and fires twice.

Sam turns to push the blond out of the way, but the blond is already moving, grabbing Sam’s arms and holding them down with a surprising amount of strength. Sam teleports to the side and the bullet flies harmlessly past, likely drilling a hole in the back wall of the dead-end alley. Sam pulls his arms free and turns, shoving the blond into the wall. Matt has knocked the gun out of the brunet’s hand and is now holding the brunet off with his billy club, clearly struggling to track the young man in the rain. Sam teleports over and grabs the brunet’s arm, holding him still just long enough for Matt to hit him over the head with the billy club. The brunet crumples to the ground and Sam turns to Matt.

“You alright?” Sam asks, watching as Matt’s entire body stiffens.

Sharp pain lances through Sam’s head and stars burst across his vision, sending him to his knees. Sam groans, pushing himself to his feet and putting one hand on the wall to steady himself as he probes his head with the other.

Sam’s hair is slick against his scalp, and Sam is worried for a second that the wound might be severe before he realizes that it’s raining hard. Sam’s entire body is soaked, and it’s so dark that Sam can barely see his hand in front of his face.

“Left!” A voice shouts, and Sam immediately darts to his left, watching sparks fly off of the wall where he was just standing.

Is someone attacking him?

Sam turns around and finds two men standing in front of him. One is wearing a red suit and a helmet with two horns protruding from the top and holding a billy club, and the other is in plainclothes and holding a gun. Sam is pretty sure he knows who shot at him. 

Sam sticks out his hand and the man with the gun flies backward, slamming into the far wall and sliding down, his body limp. Sam ignores the helmeted man and walks over to the armed man, kicking the gun to the side and confirming that the man is unconscious.

“Darkside?” The helmeted man asks, and Sam turns back around, frowning. The name—at least, Sam assumes it’s a name—sounds familiar, but Sam isn’t entirely sure why. In fact, he’s not even sure what’s going on.

Sam is standing in an alley, wearing what appears to be a mask and a leather jacket, with a man in a devil helmet. It’s pouring, there are two bodies and two guns on the ground, and although Sam can barely see beyond the mouth of the alley, he’s pretty sure the buildings here are tall enough to be considered skyscrapers.

Oh, and as if the situation wasn’t weird enough, everything is tinted a strange shade of yellow.

“Darkside.” The helmeted man says sharply, and Sam shakes his head.

“What or who the hell is Darkside?” He asks, and the man frowns, then reaches into the pocket of his jacket. Sam stiffens, but the man holds up a hand placatingly, showing Sam the cell phone he’s now holding.

The man steps slowly forward, offering the phone to Sam. “I’m Matt. Watch the video.” Sam takes the phone and turns it on, turning it sideways as the face of a different man—dark-haired, with a goatee—appears on the screen.

_ “Hey, Sam.” _  The man in the video says, frowning.  _ “If you’re watching this, you somehow managed to lose your memory again, most likely on patrol.” _  The man rubs his chin, shaking his head.  _ “We told you to stop going out. Hopefully, no one was hurt. Anyway, here’s the basics. I’m Tony. You’re Sam, and also a superhero called Darkside. You can teleport. And right now, I need you to picture me in your head and teleport to me.”  _ Tony reaches for the camera, likely to end the video, then pauses.  _ “Oh, and take whoever showed you this video with you. It would be rude to leave them behind.” _

The video ends and Sam hands the phone back to Matt, who pockets it and holds out his hand.

“I can teleport?” Sam asks, and Matt nods.

“Give me your hand.” He says, and Sam shrugs. This is already weird enough.

Sam takes Matt’s hand and closes his eyes, picturing Tony’s and hoping really hard that he’ll end up standing beside the man. For good measure, Sam pictures the surroundings he saw in the video—all chrome and stainless steel, with some scrap metal on a table and what looked like a floating orange boot.

“Woah. Hey, guys.” The voice from the video says. “Woah!” Tony adds as Sam careens to the side, grabbing at his head. The wound on the back of his head is pounding, and Sam is pretty sure his nose is bleeding.

“Ugh.” Sam clears his throat and straightens, pulling off one glove and probing the back of his head with his fingers. Sam’s fingers come away bloody and he frowns, turning to find that he and Matt are suddenly standing in Tony’s lab, along with Tony.

“You alright?” Matt asks, pulling off his helmet and shaking out his hair.

“I’m fine,” Sam says, pulling down his mask and letting it hang around his neck. “I think. What, uh… What are we doing here? I thought we were going on patrol.” Tony’s eyes widen and Matt frowns, then shakes his head.

“You were hit in the head. Lost your memory again.” Matt explains.

“Shit, really?” Tony asks. “That explains why you’re here, then. I’m guessing the video worked.” Matt nods, but Sam frowns.

“Video?” He asks.

“I recorded a short video message with some key information, should you ever lose your memory in the field,” Tony explains. “Sent it to all of the Avengers and Murdock here, just in case. It tells you to teleport to me, to the Tower.”

Sam nods slowly, his forehead creasing. He doesn’t remember even going on patrol, doesn’t even remember leaving the Tower. He must have—he wouldn’t be soaking wet if he had stayed indoors—but there’s not even a hint of memory, even from before he was hit in the head.

Sam has been trying to act like he’s okay, but he isn’t. Tonight was evidence of that.

“You said that next time I lost my memory, I had to hang up my mask,” Sam says. Tony stiffens, clearly expecting an argument, but Sam just shakes his head and unties his mask. “I should have done it sooner.” Sam holds out the mask, nodding for Tony to take it. Tony reaches out and grabs the piece of cloth that has come to symbolize so much of Sam’s life in Manhattan. Tony must know the importance of that mask because he holds it gingerly.

“We’ll keep an eye on this,” Tony says, setting the mask down on his hologram table.

“And on you,” Matt adds. “You shouldn’t be getting any head injuries inside the Tower, but we can’t risk letting you leave it.”

“I second that.” Tony agrees. “For now, let’s get you to medical to get that head looked at.” Sam just nods, following Tony and Matt into the elevator. The two discuss how to move forward—how to keep the public from noticing Darkside’s absence, and how to keep Sam safe until Tony and Bruce can find a way to stop Sam’s memory loss—but Sam focuses instead on searching his memory for any whisper of what happened tonight.

He remembers putting on his jacket, remembers reaching for the door to the balcony. And then he was standing in Tony’s lab with a gash on the back of his head.

Tony, Steve, and Bruce were right when they said that Sam should have put up his mask as soon as he was injured at the Compound. Sam wanted to pretend that there was nothing wrong with them, but that obviously isn’t true. As long as he’s losing his memory this easily, Sam is a massive risk to himself and to everyone around him.

With Penumbra lurking in the shadows, Sam can’t afford to put his friends in any more danger. 

And until he can get his mind under control, Sam is just going to have to hope that Penumbra keeps her distance.


	26. Chapter 26

In the days following his decision to hang up Darkside’s mask, Sam is quickly reminded just how much of his time is dedicated to being a vigilante. Without nightly patrols and daily training, Sam has nothing to do, so he spends most of his time in Tony’s lab, assisting Tony with various projects and working on Peter’s web fluid.

Three days after Sam’s latest incident, Tony is called away with the rest of the Avengers to deal with an alien invasion in Vermont. Apparently, this particular breed of aliens is one the Avengers have some experience with because Tony tags Peter to come along.

Which means that Sam is completely alone in the tower, except for Peter’s aunt.

Sam does a pretty good job of keeping out of May’s way for the first few hours, sticking only to his own floor and Tony’s lab. He risks venturing to the communal lounge after about six hours to grab some dinner, thankful to find the floor empty.

Sam doesn’t want to outright avoid May, but he isn’t terribly fond of the idea of being roped into a conversation with her, either. Sam is far from a functional person right now, much less a superhero. And despite what May told him before, Sam knows that he doesn’t deserve her trust. Sam doesn’t deserve anyone’s trust.

Sam shakes his head, biting the inside of his cheek as he grabs an apple and heads for the balcony. The sun is low in the sky, painting the horizon varying shades of pink and orange. It’s beautiful. Calming.

Sam opens the door and steps outside, opening his ears to the symphony of the city. When Sam is inside the Tower, the city’s sounds are muted—he can hear them if he tries, but the horns and conversations and screeching tires are mostly ignorable. Now, Sam embraces the white noise generated by New York City. It’s just loud enough to dampen Sam’s thoughts.

Sam watches the sun sink lower and lower until it disappears behind a few of the taller buildings a few blocks away. The sky fades from pink to yellow and Sam bites his cheek as the entire world takes on a familiar hue. It reminds Sam of exactly what he came out here to forget.

Darkside was supposed to be a hero, and yet all Sam has done since he arrived in Manhattan is get people hurt. He very nearly got Karen killed by the Demon, then Matt, then Jody, Alex, and Claire. The Judge tried to kill Steve, and now Penumbra is targeting Peter. No matter how hard Sam tries, the people he cares about get hurt because all Sam seems to be good at is collecting targets on his back.

Sam’s enemies have always far outnumbered his friends.

Sam isn’t even sure what he’s really doing in Manhattan. He put on a mask to save people, dedicated his life to protecting innocents. And yet, he’s the most dangerous person in the city to be around. Wherever Sam goes, chaos and pain follow close behind. And while Sam has been relatively unscathed, those in his vicinity aren’t so lucky. It’s a miracle no one has actually died yet.

Sam knows perfectly well that’s not going to hold true much longer.

“Sam, are you alright?” The voice that comes up behind Sam is distinctly familiar and Sam swallows hard, running an anxious hand through his hair and shaking his head.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Sam says, turning away from the sunset to face May, who smiles warmly.

“Call me May, Sam, please.” She says, walking over to the edge of the balcony where Sam stands and leaning against the railing. “You’ve saved my nephew’s life at least twice now. The least you could do is call me by my first name.”

Sam bobs his head awkwardly. “Of course.” His voice is low but it still cracks. “Sorry.” Sam apologizes automatically. “I just… it’s been a while since I’ve been around a mother.” Sam isn’t entirely sure where the words come from, but once they’re out, he realizes that they’re actually true. Sam has been avoiding May because he can’t face her, knowing what he does about Peter’s future. But he’s also unwilling to face May herself, for another reason entirely.

“Oh, I’m not…” May trails off, surprised, and Sam laughs half-heartedly.

“You’re not Peter’s mom, I know,” Sam says. “But you raised him. And to be honest, you remind me a bit of my mom.” Sam shakes his head, chewing on his cheek until the skin breaks. And that’s the real issue. With everything going on since Lebanon, Sam never had time to confront the fact that his mother is once again dead. That he forgot her last moments, along with who knows what else.

Sam may never know what all he’s forgotten. But he’ll never forgive himself for forgetting Mary Winchester’s death.

“You lost your mother when you were a baby, right?” May asks hesitantly, testing the waters. Sam nods, turning to face her.

“Yeah.” He says, unwilling to go into specifics if he can avoid it. “Dean’s always talked about Mom, for as long as I can remember. Growing up, he’d tell me about her. He was four when she died, but he remembered her. Her eyes, her smile…” Sam shakes his head. “I always thought he was luckier than I was. He got to know our parents before Mom died. Got to know who our dad was back then.” Sam hesitates, then sighs. “Dad didn’t really know what he was doing with two little boys. Threw himself into his work, dedicated his life to finding Mom’s killer at the expense of my and Dean’s childhoods.”

“I’m sorry,” May says.

Sam shakes his head. “Don’t be. You did it the right way.” May frowns, clearly confused, so Sam elaborates, “With Peter, I mean. After his parents died, you and his uncle raised him right.”

“I always wondered if Peter remembered his parents. If he missed them.” May says quietly, eyes on the horizon as the sun sinks even further. The upper bounds of the sky are starting to turn purple now, and the yellow is fading. “He was young when they died, not as young as you or your brother but young nonetheless. Too young to lose his family. And then Ben…” May trails off, wiping discreetly at her eyes. “Ben’s death hit Peter hard,” May says with a sigh. “Peter has never told me directly, but I suspect Ben’s murder is what inspired him to become Spider-Man.”

“What about you?” Sam asks. “I can’t imagine what it must have been like to lose your husband like that.” Sam has lost a lot of people he cared about. Family, friends, significant others. But he’s never been married. Never lost a spouse. And that kind of connection being severed so abruptly must be hell.

May nods hesitantly, meeting Sam’s eyes for a moment before turning her attention back to the city. “It broke me,” May says with a soft smile. “Ben was the love of my life. But I had to be there for Peter. Until Tony came around, I was all Peter had.” 

“Do you worry?” Sam asks. “When Tony takes Peter out on Avengers missions?” It’s a thought that’s only just occurred to Sam—Peter can more than hold his own fighting petty criminals in Queens, but Avengers-level threats are a lot bigger. A lot more dangerous.

“Of course I worry,” May says, cracking a smile that doesn’t look completely happy but does look genuine. “I’ll never stop worrying. But Tony does a lot to make sure Peter is safe. Peter has a more heavy-duty suit he only wears on Avengers missions, and Tony has quite a few protocols in place to immediately remove Peter from dangerous situations.” May shakes her head. “If I thought telling Peter no would actually make him stop, I’d do it. So would Tony. But all Peter wants is to be out there with his hero. Being a hero.”

“I think for Peter, it’s as much instinct as it is for me,” Sam admits. “We can’t not help. Sitting there, doing nothing, just makes you complacent.”

“Peter said something similar once,” May says. “When I first learned he was Spider-Man, and he convinced me to let him continue.” May shakes her head. “It must be hard for you, then. To stay here while they go out and fight.”

Sam nods, probing the sore spot on his cheek with his tongue. He’s chewed it raw, and there’s a faint taste of salt that suggests he’s bleeding.

Better Sam bleeds than anyone else.

“It’s probably for the best,” Sam says after a minute. “All I seem to be doing lately is getting people hurt. Sometimes I’m not sure I should be playing hero at all.” Sam didn’t mean to say that, but he doesn’t try to take it back. It’s the truth. And Sam is tired of hiding the truth.

Sam is just tired.

“You aren’t playing the hero,” May says sternly. “You  _ are _  a hero, Sam. Someone out there in the world thinks you’re a hero.”

Sam almost laughs. As is, he barely manages to shake his head. “I’m nobody’s hero. And even if I am, I won’t be forever. I’ll do something to screw it up.”

“You’re Peter’s hero.”

Sam looks up at this, then shakes his head. There’s no way that’s true, no way he’s anywhere near hero status in the mind of someone as bright as Peter.

“I mean it, Sam.” May’s using her mom voice now, commanding Sam’s attention and demanding his agreement. “Peter thinks you’re one of the most incredible people in the world. You went through so much, shouldered the hatred of the world, and even when you were running from everyone, you risked your life to fight crime. To save people.” May smiles gently up at Sam, her face soft but her eyes hard. “You are exactly the kind of person Peter wants to be. He told me himself after he and I came here. After you saved his life, and the lives of his friends.”

It’s supposed to be comforting. Reassuring. And if May were talking about anyone else, it would be.

But Sam will never be a hero for long. No matter what, he’ll do something to screw it up, to lose the trust the world has in him, to alienate himself from everyone. Sam will get Peter killed, and the world will turn its back on him. And he’ll die alone with an arrow in his stomach.

Sam will never be a hero for long because he knows that Peter will die, and he won’t be able to do a thing to stop it.

The last slivers of sun disappear below the horizon, plunging the world into darkness. The shadows swirl through the city, watching Sam’s every move, waiting for their moment to strike.

Peter will never see it coming.

Sam turns around and walks inside, leaving May alone on the shadowed balcony.


	27. Chapter 27

For the rest of the Avengers’ extended absence, Sam and May talk regularly, keeping each other company in the lonely tower. They talk about Ben and Peter’s parents, about Dean, Mary, and John Winchester, about the chaotic world of superheroes and how far they’re both willing to go to keep Peter safe.

When Peter comes back from the Avengers mission with his left arm in a sling, Sam is the one who talks May out of killing Tony.

It turns out that Peter dislocated his shoulder, and the sling was a result of Peter trying to appease a panicked Tony. It’s less a necessity and more a comfort, both for Tony and for May, and it’s for that reason that Peter continues to wear the sling for an additional day after his return.

Sam is making himself a bowl of cereal that afternoon at the upstate base—Tony and Peter stopped by the Tower long enough to pick Sam up so they could go upstate and work on a Penumbra Defense Strategy—while Peter sits at the breakfast bar, eating an apple and reading a book on quantum mechanics. Tony and Steve have just left to restock the fridge, Natasha and Clint are visiting Clint’s family, and Bucky is meeting Matt and Foggy with Sam Wilson, so the only other person in the compound is Bruce, who is presumably either working on something in his lab or sleeping off the mission.

A faint rumbling sound draws Sam’s eyes to the wall at his right and he sets down his cereal bowl, glancing at Peter. Peter is still absorbed in his book, so Sam disregards the noise for the time being, turning back to his cereal.

The rumbling sound returns, a little bit louder now, and this time, the cereal in the bowl settles a bit.

“Peter?” Sam says slowly, drawing Peter’s eyes up as the bowl shakes again, this time vigorously enough for the spoon to clink against the ceramic.

Sam was planning to ask Peter if he was bouncing his leg and causing the bowl to shake, but the look of pure terror that fills Peter’s gaze puts another, much more worrying thought into Sam’s mind.

There’s one member of the Avengers team who Sam has yet to meet.

The rumbling sound picks up again, but this time it’s close enough for Sam to hear what it really is—an aggravated yell, a powerful one, accompanied by the rhythmic pounding of bare feet on the tile floors of the compound.

“Outside. Now.” Sam says, and Peter abandons his book and follows Sam out the door. They cross around the building, then head into the gym. Sam turns his vision yellow and tracks a massive soul through the compound. It turns, moving toward Sam and Peter—and, as Sam was hoping, away from the residential section of the compound. 

The walls of the spacious gym can be fixed much more easily than seven customized bedrooms. 

“What do we do?” Peter asks as Sam watches the soul get bigger and bigger, too rapidly to be doing anything but running full speed ahead. Sam knows exactly what’s coming, and he’s sure Peter does too.

“Call Tony,” Sam says. “And get out of that sling.” 

Peter doesn’t have to be told twice, shedding the sling with ease and pulling out his phone. Sam grabs Peter and teleports them both to the far end of the gym just as the interior wall shatters and the Hulk storms inside, throwing what appears to be a sofa at the wall and screaming angrily. Peter ducks down and starts talking rapidly into his phone, and Sam holds out his hands, ready to deflect anything the Hulk sends his way. Sam has no idea what caused Bruce to Hulk out—or why the Hulk is so angry—but right now that’s the least of his problems.

_ “What’s going on?”  _ Tony’s voice fills the air, and Sam looks over his shoulder to see that Peter has put his phone on speaker and webbed it to the wall of the gym.  _ “Peter?!” _

“Bruce hulked out,” Sam says as loudly as he dares—the Hulk hasn’t noticed him and Peter yet, and Sam wants to keep it that way as long as possible. The gym is the least dangerous place in the compound for the Hulk to be, but there’s still plenty for him to throw around.

Including Peter and Sam.

_ “What?!”  _ Tony exclaims, and Sam hears frantic muttering and the sound of crashing over the phone.

_ “We’re on our way,”  _ Steve says.  _ “Keep us on the line.” _

“Uh, Sam?” Peter says slowly, and Sam turns his attention back to the Hulk—who is now staring right at him.

“Hulk just noticed us,” Sam says. “You should probably hurry.” The Hulk roars, grabbing a piece of concrete from the broken wall and lobbing it across the room. Sam knocks the concrete to the side, where it hits the exterior wall and shatters. The Hulk pauses, clearly surprised, then roars again and starts throwing more concrete at a much more rapid pace.

_ “Sam, you alright?” _  Tony asks.  _ “Sam?” _  Sam ignores the call, focusing all of his attention on fighting the wave of concrete and debris being tossed in his direction. Peter is webbing the smaller pieces to the walls and the floor so Sam focuses on the big ones, sending them away from him and Peter and trying his best to avoid hitting the Hulk. The last thing they need is to make him angrier.

“Sam!” Peter exclaims, and Sam watches as three massive chunks fly his way in quick unison. Sam can catch two of them but the third keeps flying toward Peter, and Sam curses under his breath, diving for Peter and teleporting them both to the side.

When Sam looks over his shoulder, he discovers that the piece of cement hit the wall where Peter’s phone was webbed, crushing it.

“Keep your eyes open,” Sam says, straightening and wiping some white dust off of Peter’s shoulder. “Get on the ceiling and stay there.” Peter shoots a web at the ceiling and swings up, sticking upside down and shooting a web at the Hulk. While the Hulk is busy following Peter with his eyes, Sam teleports closer and pushes out with both hands, hard, sending the Hulk flying into the wall. The Hulk stands and shakes his head, then charges Sam, who teleports to the side. The Hulk skids to a stop and looks around wildly, and when his gaze lands on Sam, he looks pissed.

Great. Well, there goes any hope of not making him angrier.

Peter shoots another web at the Hulk, who brushes it off of his shoulder like it’s no stronger than an ordinary spider’s web. The Hulk picks up another piece of cement—possibly one he already threw before—and lobs it at the ceiling. Peter scurries to the side but isn’t quite able to clear the area in time, and when the concrete makes contact with the ceiling a chunk flies off and hits Peter in the leg, knocking him off of the ceiling.

“Peter!” Sam shouts, watching as Peter manages to grab the ceiling with one hand, dangling from his fingertips and trying to regain his grip. The Hulk grins and grabs another piece of the wall and Sam pulls it from his grasp, tossing it behind himself.

“I’m okay, I’m ok- Sam, look out!” Peter yells as the Hulk charges Sam again, one hand outstretched. Sam teleports to the side but he misjudges the distance, and he doesn’t even have time to react before a giant green hand is connecting with his chest and sending him flying.

The last thing Sam hears is a cracking sound before everything goes black. 

* * *

When Sam comes to, his head is pounding and there’s a stubborn ringing in his ears. Sam pinches the bridge of his nose and groans, opening his eyes and blinking blearily.

“…am… Mister…kay? Mister Sa…you okay?” The voice is faint and difficult to hear through all the ringing, but the roar that follows could wake the dead and Sam jerks upright, looking around wildly. There’s a giant green… thing… standing on the other end of the large room Sam is lying in, next to a giant hole in the wall. The green thing is looking up at the ceiling, and Sam follows its gaze to what appears to be a teenage boy, who is hanging from the ceiling. The kid looks like he’s doing an inverted handstand, both palms flat against the ceiling and his legs kicking as he apparently tries to swing them up as well.

What the actual hell is going on?

The green thing picks up a chunk of concrete that Sam assumes came from the broken wall, chucking it at the ceiling. The kid lifts his legs and the concrete sails beneath them, hitting the wall several feet above Sam’s head and shattering, raining chunks of cement down on his head and shoulders. Sam climbs unsteadily to his feet, shaking his head to try to clear it. He has no idea what’s going on, but he knows he has to protect that kid.

Everything else is a problem to be dealt with later.

The green thing picks up another piece of the wall and Sam runs forward, waving his arms. “Hey!” He shouts, drawing the attention of the green thing and that of the kid.

“Sam! Mr. Sam, are you okay?” The kid asks as if Sam is the one hanging by his palms from thirty feet in the air. 

“I’m fine!” Sam replies—the kid clearly knows who he is, and that’s good enough for Sam—as he stares down the green thing, who throws the concrete at Sam’s head. Sam lifts one hand and the concrete stops in midair, and Sam sends it back where it came from, hitting the green thing in the chest and sending it stumbling back a few steps. Before the green thing can grab anything else to throw, Sam holds out both hands, palms out, freezing the green thing in place. “Get down from there and get to cover, kid!” Sam shouts over his shoulder, gritting his teeth when the green thing starts angrily and aggressively fighting his hold.

“Let… Hulk… go!” The green thing roars, straining against Sam’s hold and doing a little too well. The green thing—Hulk, apparently—manages to take a step forward, and Sam plants his feet and thrusts his arms forward even harder.

“Now, kid!” Sam warns.

“I’m going! I’m going!” The kid replies, and Sam hears a distinct  _ thwip _ , followed by the sound of the kid’s feet hitting the ground. Hulk continues to fight Sam’s hold and Sam continues to channel more of his energy into his hands, ignoring the black spots that start to swim across his vision. Something wet touches Sam’s upper lip and he pokes it with the tip of his tongue. It’s salty, with a metallic tang. Blood, presumably from Sam’s nose.

Great. And here he thought the nosebleeds left when the demon blood did.

“You clear?!” Sam asks after a minute, aware that he won’t be able to hold Hulk much longer.

“I’m clear!” The kid replies, and a moment Sam hears that  _ thwip _  sound again and what appears to be a large spiderweb flies past Sam, sticking to Hulk’s right foot.

Sam really hopes the kid was telling the truth about being clear.

Hulk roars again and Sam staggers backward as Hulk breaks free, charging full force at Sam. The kid yells Sam’s name in alarm, as do a couple of new voices, and Sam tries to backpedal only for his legs to give out beneath him. Hulk wraps a giant green hand around Sam’s torso and picks him up, slamming his back into a wall. Sam’s head collides with the reinforced wall and stars burst across his vision.

So do a few important memories.

The sound of blasters fills the air and Sam watches through blurry vision as Tony fires a few shots at the Hulk. It’s Steve’s shield that finally does the job, appearing out of nowhere and connecting with the Hulk’s forehead. The Hulk releases his grip on Sam as he collapses to the ground, already looking a little less green as he sinks into unconsciousness.

“Mr. Sam!” Peter exclaims as Sam lands hard on his feet, barely able to keep his balance as he wipes his upper lip with his hand. There’s a red streak on the back of his hand but Sam ignores it, taking a couple of steps and nearly collapsing when his leg gives out beneath him. Peter is suddenly there a moment later, his shoulder under Sam’s arm and his hand around Sam’s waist, helping him stand.

“Sam, you alright?” Tony asks as he and Steve walk over. 

“Fine,” Sam says. “Hulk is… strong. Too strong for me to hold very long, apparently. Must’ve strained some muscles I didn’t know I had.”

“All of your abilities have limits,” Steve says. “It looks like we just found one of them.”

“Telekinesis with a weight limit,” Sam says with a breathy laugh, wincing when his ribs protest. Being thrown into a few walls is sure to leave him with a rainbow of bruises. “Lost some time again,” Sam adds, probing the blank spot in his mind between the two times his head connected with the wall. Clearly, Sam’s bouts of memory loss are caused by head injuries. Unfortunately, Sam has a habit of hitting his head. A lot.

And every time, he seems to be getting worse.

“We need to stop this,” Sam says, shaking his head. “One of these days, my memories just aren’t going to come back.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Tony says, more serious than Sam has seen him in a while. It takes Sam a minute to realize that Tony is scared. And if their expressions are anything to go by, Steve and Peter are, too.

Sam is dangerous enough when he knows where he is. Without his memories, he could do some major damage. And if the wrong person got to Sam before one of the Avengers, Sam could end up fighting for the wrong side.

That, Sam suddenly realizes, might be exactly why Penumbra is here.

Before he has a chance to share that realization with his friends, Sam’s knee gives out. He’s unconscious before he hits the ground.


	28. Chapter 28

_A shadowed tentacle strikes out, and Sam watches in horror as it digs into Peter’s chest—into it and right through it. Penumbra vanishes and Peter falls to his knees, to his side, to his back, blood pooling around him as his skin rapidly loses color. It’s fatal. Beyond fatal._

_Tony runs to Peter’s side and Sam stands perfectly still, just watching._

_A loud sound, like TV static dialed up to 11, fills the air, and the world around Sam skips like a crack on a DVD, cutting in and out, distorted, blurry. When the world returns to normal, Sam is lying on the ground, an arrow in his stomach, with the Avengers standing over him._

A loud booming echo has Sam shooting into a seated position, breathing heavily and grasping for a weapon. The gun Sam keeps in his nightstand is already in his hand by the time the second explosion goes off, and Sam sees a flash of blue through the window and remembers what’s going on.

It’s the 4th of July, which means fireworks. Not pleasant, but manageable. And infinitely preferable to the contents of Sam’s nightmare.

“Young Sir, are you alright?” JARVIS speaks up, and Sam nods, setting his gun down on the nightstand and rubbing his face with his hands. “Sir is awake, if you would like to speak to him.”

“No, don’t bother Tony,” Sam says, waving into the air as if it will assuage JARVIS’s worries. As if JARVIS is worried. Sam pauses, recalling his latest vision and focusing in particular on the strange moment of feedback in the middle. Sam’s visions have always jumped around, left things out, filled in missing information that wasn’t always accurate. But Sam’s never encountered something quite like that before.

The crack in Sam’s mind, the one slowly swallowing up his memories, has apparently reached Sam’s visions. It’s corrupting them, distorting them, taking out vital pieces of information that Sam desperately needs to see, no matter how much he tries to avoid them. The one thing Sam doesn’t yet know about this particular vision is why Clint shoots him. It’s always been absent, cut out of Sam’s vision, blacked out by his mind. But tonight, it wasn’t just removed, it was corrupted. Destroyed.

Sam may never get that piece of his vision back. He’s more likely going to lose even more.

“Am I allowed to call Dean?” Sam asks. “He hates the 4th. The fireworks bring back bad memories.” It’s not entirely a lie—Dean has never been a fan of explosions, and his hatred only increased after his trip to Hell—but Sam really just wants to talk to his brother. Tonight, Sam is the one who needs comforting.

“I can try,” JARVIS says.

Sam waits for a few minutes, watching the fireworks show through his window. With every explosion of color, the world lights up, covering Manhattan in soft light, red or blue or white. This is the second fireworks show Sam has watched in the past fifteen years—the first was New Years, a little over six months ago. Sam’s first New Years with the Avengers.

Sam can’t help but wonder if it was also his last.

“Calling Dean Winchester,” JARVIS speaks up suddenly, and Sam grins. JARVIS actually managed to pull it off.

“Hello?” Dean asks, wide awake despite the late hour. “Sammy, what’s going on?”

“Hey, Dean,” Sam says, suddenly doubting his decision to speak to his brother. If Sam can’t bring himself to talk to the Avengers, why would he be able to talk to Dean?

Why wouldn’t he?

Sam swallows hard and says the words before he can change his mind. “I’m losing my memory.” Upon realizing how bad that sounds, Sam hastens to explain. “I mean not, like, constantly. If I get hit in the head, I lose a lot of time. Wake up without most of my memories. I know who I am, apparently, and I must know about my abilities because I’m using them. If I get hit again, or teleport, everything comes back, other than what I did while I was missing my memories.”

Dean is silent for a long moment, and Sam braces himself for the worst. When Dean finally speaks, his voice is quiet. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” Dean asks, but there’s no heat behind his words.

“I thought I could deal with it. I _am_ dealing with it, Dean.” Sam insists. “It’s just... I had a vision. Tonight. And something happened in the middle. It’s like it... cut out, I guess. Like it got corrupted somehow. I can’t help but wonder if the glitch in my vision is related to my lapses of memory.”

“You have to tell the Avengers about this, Sam,” Dean says. “I can’t help you from here. Or at all, probably. But they can.”

“I can’t tell them,” Sam says. “I can’t. They know about the memory lapses, but they can’t know about the vision.”

“Why?”

And isn’t that the million-dollar question. What’s keeping Sam from telling the Avengers, other than his own fear? Bucky already knows, after all. And knowing what happens to Peter could help the Avengers prepare.

Sam doesn’t want them to prepare. He doesn’t want them to have to sit Peter down and tell him he’s going to die, or to choose not to tell him and be forced to carry that weight around until it happens.

Sam doesn’t want the Avengers to have to choose. But he doesn’t tell Dean that.

Instead, Sam pretends that there’s only one thing keeping him from spilling everything to the Avengers. “I die. In the vision.” Sam says, biting the inside of his cheek. “I die, Dean, with an arrow in my stomach. With one of _Clint’s_ arrows in my stomach.”

“You’re telling me that Hawkeye shoots you? Kills you?” Dean asks in disbelief.

“Now you see why I can’t tell them,” Sam says, shaking his head. “Until I know why Clint kills me, I can’t risk telling any of them about the vision.”

“There must be a reasonable explanation. Maybe Barton’s possessed.”

“No black eyes.”

“Maybe _you’re_ possessed.”

Sam sighs. “Dean, I don’t think it has anything to do with possession. If I was possessed, I wouldn’t die. If Clint was possessed, I’d be able to tell. His soul would be off.” Dean pauses, likely remembering that particular talent of Sam’s.

“There must be a reason,” Dean says, and Sam can picture his clenched jaw and the determination in his eyes. “We’ll find it. _Before_ your vision happens.”

Sam just nods along to Dean’s words, agreeing to agree and knowing in his heart that this isn’t a vision they’re going to be able to change. There’s just not enough information.

“I’ve got to go, Sammy,” Dean says after a minute. “I won’t tell the Avengers if you don’t. But I really do think you should tell them.” Dean pauses. “At the very least, you should tell Stark.”

Before Sam can reply, the call has ended. Sam shakes his head, glancing at the window and noticing that the fireworks show has ended.

“Sir has requested your presence in his lab,” JARVIS speaks up, and Sam grabs the crutches leaning against his nightstand and stands.

Talking to Dean didn’t answer any of Sam’s many questions, but it did make him feel better. Telling Dean about the vision lifted a weight off of Sam’s shoulders. Just knowing that someone else knows what happened—what _will_ happen—is comforting.

Sam exits his room and heads into the elevator, which is open and waiting. The trip to Tony’s lab is short, and before long the doors are opening again.

"JARVIS said you needed me?" Sam walks into the lab and stops in his tracks when he sees a second Tony standing beside the first one. The duplicate is tinged blue and relatively transparent but other than that, it's a strikingly realistic image. "What is that?" Sam asks.

"Something I'm working on," Tony says simply, gesturing for Sam to step closer. "You're good with mannerisms, right? Tell me if this looks like me." Tony pulls up a holographic keyboard and types something out, then pushes a few buttons lying flat on the table. "JARVIS, hit it."

"Playing," JARVIS replies.

"Hey, Sam." The hologram says, grinning. The corners of its eyes crinkle and it clasps its hands together behind its back, huffing. "You know, you can be a real pain in my ass sometimes, but I love you anyway." The hologram winks, then freezes, face going flat.

"Well?" Tony asks once it becomes clear that the hologram isn't going to continue.

"It... sounds like you," Sam says hesitantly. "Smiles the same way, too."

"Yeah, but does it _talk_ like me?" Tony asks. "Here, listen to this." He types something else and shoots finger guns at the hologram—apparently a silent cue for JARVIS to press play.

"I like to eat potatoes and drink the blood of my enemies." The hologram says in Tony's snarkiest tone.

"What?" Sam asks, confused.

Tony shakes his head. "I needed it to say something I'd never say. To test the software." Tony walks over to the hologram and reaches out, twisting his hand. The hologram spins around and Tony scrutinizes its face closely. "I need it to be perfect. Like it's really me. For now, it will only say what I type, but I'm working on an AI to program it with."

"Why are you doing all this?" Sam asks.

"Honestly?" Tony replies, and Sam nods. "Peter." Tony shakes his head, leaning back against his hologram table and sighing. "I guess I'm just paranoid, after all this stuff with Penumbra. Worried that I might not be around much longer. That I'll do something stupid, like throwing myself in front of Peter, or you, or anyone, really, and that'll be it. No more Iron Man. No passing Go, no collecting 200 dollars. Just... nothing." Tony clears his throat, straightening and gesturing to the hologram. "So since I'm too busy fretting to sleep, I've been making this. Just in case."

"In case you die," Sam says, and Tony nods.

"So that no matter what, Peter will have me."

Sam swallows hard, recalling Dean's words of advice—that Sam needs to tell the Avengers what he's been seeing, needs to tell Tony. But how does he tell Tony that Peter will never live in a world that Tony isn't in?

How is Sam supposed to tell Tony that the kid he'd sacrifice everything for will die in his arms before he gets that chance?

"I think it's great," Sam says, ignoring the way his heart clenches in his chest. "It sounds just like you, Tony. Looks just like you, acts just like you. Peter will love it. I know he will." Tony nods, smiling softly for a moment before turning back to his workbench.

"Thanks, Sam," Tony says. "That's all I needed. I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow." Sam nods, even though he knows that Tony can't see it, and steps back into the elevator. As soon as the doors close, Sam sags against the wall, shaking his head.

How is Sam supposed to tell Tony that he can't save Peter?

But how can he not?


	29. Chapter 29

He wakes to the sun shining in his eyes and blinks, sitting up in bed. He rubs his eyes, looking around at the room he’s in. It’s sparsely decorated, with only a few hints of personality scattered around—a necklace dropped on the nightstand, a leather jacket hanging on the door handle of the closet, a pair of crutches leaning against the wall. Outside the window, the upper floors of a few buildings are visible, and he swings his legs over the side of the bed, planting his feet on the floor.

Or, rather, planting his  _ foot _  on the floor. His left foot lands firmly but the right never reaches, and he looks down in disbelief at the vanished portion of his limb, which ends abruptly just above the knee. That explains the crutches.

He grabs the crutches and makes his way over to the window, looking out at the city. He’s high up, higher than almost every other building, and he can see water from here, vast expanses of it _. _

_ Where is he? _

He searches his memory for any hint as to how he could have gotten here, in this bed in this room in this building, and draws a blank. A massive blank, one that encompasses not just his presence in this place but everything. His location. His past. 

His name.

He stands at the window for a long moment, staring at nothing as his forays into his mind grow increasingly frantic. He must have memories, must have  _ something _ , but all he remembers is waking up slowly to the sunlight in his eyes.

And before that, nothing. Not even a whisper, not even a hint of fog obscuring vital memories.

Nothing.

The door opens and he turns around fast, watching as a teenage boy steps into the room. The kid is wearing a skin-tight, red and blue suit of some kind, and holding a mask in his hand. His outfit is detailed with spider webs, black lines crossing over each other and spreading out from a spider decal on his chest.

Who is the kid?

Who is the man?

“Mr. Sam, are you okay?” The kid asks, looking at him curiously.

Sam. That must be his name. It has to be.

“I don’t... know.” He says— _ Sam _  says, his voice lower than he expected, and darker. Rougher. “I... who are you?” The kid’s eyes widen and he looks around the room, then back at Sam.

“You don’t remember?” The kid asks, and Sam shakes his head.

“I don’t remember anything.” He says. “I don’t know who you are. Or where we are. Or who I am.” The kid manages to lose a few more shades of color and he looks up at the ceiling.

“JARVIS, get Mr. Stark down here. Tell him it’s an emergency.”

“Right away, Mr. Parker.” A voice comes from the ceiling and Sam jumps, raising his fists defensively without realizing it. The kid—Parker—holds up his hands in surrender, clearly worried. Tense.

“I’m Peter.” The kid says. “Peter Parker. I live here, for now anyway. So do you.”

“Where is here?” Sam asks, lowering his hands. He has no idea who Peter is, but the kid isn’t threatening. He’s not weak—there’s something in the way the kid is standing that makes Sam think maybe the opposite is true—but he’s not threatening.

“Avengers Tower. New York City. Um, Manhattan?” Peter sounds unsure of himself, but Sam just nods. He has no idea what Peter is talking about, but he just nods.

The door opens again, and another man steps inside. And this time, Sam goes on the defensive.

This man looks about as threatening at first glance as Peter does, but there’s something about him that instantly puts Sam on edge. Maybe it’s the way he carries himself, or the look in his eye, or maybe Sam has some instincts about this kind of thing, something deep-seated that no amount of lost memory could completely remove. But there’s no doubt in Sam’s mind that this man is dangerous.

“Woah, hey, Sam, it’s alright.” The man says, putting his hands up, palms out, the same way that Peter did earlier. But when this man does it, it just makes him look even more dangerous, and Sam finds himself expecting something else to happen. On a whim, Sam lifts his own hands, mimicking the position the man took.

The man’s entire body freezes in place, even his eyes. And Peter suddenly looks completely terrified.

“Stop, Mr. Sam!” Peter exclaims, rolling back on his heels. “Let him go!” Sam hesitates, then drops his hands to his sides, and the man also drops his hands, shoving them into the pockets of his suit jacket.

“I know you’re scared, Sam.” The man says patiently. “But I need you to trust me.”

“Who are you?” Sam asks, and the man glances at Peter.

“He doesn’t remember anything,” Peter says. “More than usual. Usually, he remembers his name, at least.” Usually? That implies that this has happened before. Sam has lost his memories before.

“I’m Tony. Tony Stark.” The man says. “I own this building. You’re Sam Winchester, and you’ve been living here for the past year and a half.”

“What’s happening to me?” Sam asks. “What happened to my memories?”

“We don’t know,” Tony admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yet. But usually, your memory loss is triggered by a blow to the head.”

“I was asleep,” Sam says. “I woke up without my memory.” He can’t be totally certain of that, but his head doesn’t hurt at all so Sam doubts he was hit.

“I know. And that’s why I’m concerned.” Tony says. “Sam, I need you to come with me. There’s a medical floor two floors below us where a friend of ours has been working on some contingencies for this exact situation.” Sam hesitates, looking around again. Peter and Tony exchange a look, then Peter walks over to the nightstand, picking up something metal that was on the ground beside it.

“What is that?” Sam asks, scrutinizing the metal and realizing that it looks similar to a leg.

“It’s yours,” Peter says, taking a cautious step in Sam’s direction and holding out the leg. “Your prosthetic.” Sam looks back down at his leg, at the empty space where a leg should be and isn’t. Then he gestures for Peter to come closer.

“I won’t hurt you,” Sam says after a minute, once he figures out that Peter is scared of him. Scared of whatever Sam can do, like how he froze Tony with his hands earlier. 

Sam takes the leg from Peter and puts it on with instructions from Tony.

“Come on. We’ll take you to the medical floor.” Tony says. Sam stands and follows Tony and Peter out of the room and down a short, well-lit hallway. They step into an elevator, and Sam waits for someone to press a button. Instead, the doors close and the elevator starts moving automatically, apparently aware of where it needs to go even though neither Tony nor Peter designated a floor.

Weird.

When they arrive on the medical floor, another man is waiting. This man, too, has a sense of danger surrounding him, although he looks even less threatening than Tony. He’s wearing a purple button-down shirt and a lab coat, and he barely comes up to Sam’s chest, and yet it feels like something is simmering just beneath the surface, ready to lash out at any time.

Sam can’t help but wonder how he ended up in the company of so many subtly dangerous people.

“Please tell me you have something,” Tony says, stepping out of the elevator and gesturing for Sam to follow him. Sam and Peter trail behind as Tony and the other man discuss something quietly, voices so low that Sam can’t make out what they’re saying. The man takes Sam into an empty room but for a hospital bed, a couch, and a TV, waiting until Sam is sitting down on the edge of the bed before he speaks up.

“I have something.” The man says. “Something that might stop the memory fade, but it has side effects. It’s up to you whether you take it.” Sam frowns at this—he doesn’t know what the potential side effects are, or how they’d affect him.

“I can’t make that decision,” Sam says. “Not when I have no idea what the consequences may be.”

“You need your memory back to decide.” Tony infers, and Sam nods.

“You said I lose my memory when I’m hit in the head,” Sam says, glancing at Peter. “How do I usually get it back?”

“Another blow to the head tends to do the trick,” Tony admits, rubbing the back of his neck.

Sam shakes his head. “Okay, hit me.” He says, earning him three incredulous looks. “I’m serious. I need to get my memories back, and if that’s the way to do it, so be it.” The trio of strangers is still hesitant, and Sam pauses. “I’m going to assume that I hit my head a lot, otherwise this memory thing wouldn’t be as big of an issue as it is. Clearly, I can handle it.” Tony, Peter, and the other man don’t look like they’re going to budge, and Sam sighs. “I trust you.” He says, surprised to discover that he really means it. “I don’t know who you are, but I trust that you won’t hurt me. And I trust you to fix this.”

Tony and the other man exchange a look, then begin whispering sharply to each other. Sam figures they’re arguing over who should hit Sam in the head—he hears Tony say he has better control, which the other man refutes by pointing out that he’s a doctor. Shaking his head, Sam turns his gaze to Peter, who looks more than a little bit uncomfortable. Sam meets Peter’s eyes and nods once, offering the teen a hesitant smile.

Peter’s expression shifts from one of discomfort to hesitation, then to acceptance. And then he returns Sam’s smile, lifts his hand, and fires something from the contraption on his wrist. 

* * *

When Sam wakes up, he’s lying in a bed on the medical floor with Tony, Peter, and Bruce standing over him. They all look more than a little bit anxious, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why.

Sam lost his memory again. The only difference is, this time he actually remembers. He remembers waking up to a blank slate, facing familiar faces and seeing strangers, searching for anything in his mind to cling to and finding nothing. The terror that washed over Sam then makes a sudden return and Sam closes his eyes, taking a moment to explore his mind and relishing in all that he finds there. Every laugh, every hug, every tear that Sam finds scattered around his brain is refreshing. Even the worst memories of pain and suffering and the nightmares that have haunted Sam for as long as he can remember are things he never wants to be without again.

Sam clings not just to the good but to the bad, to the things he once wished he could just wipe away, like the pad of a finger on a dusty shelf. Those bad times were just as important in creating Sam as the good ones, just as pivotal to who Sam is, and Sam can’t lose them. He won’t.

“What are the side effects, Bruce?” Sam asks, even though he knows his decision isn’t going to change.

“We won’t know until the medication has time to take effect, but there’s a chance that your abilities will be impacted,” Bruce says. “The brain is a complicated thing, and we still don’t know exactly where your powers come from. Your memory loss doesn’t seem to affect them, but…”

“But we can’t know for sure,” Sam says, looking down at his hands. Darkside is a major part of who Sam is. A piece of him that he never wants to give up, a piece he can’t just walk away from. But without his memory, Sam is already being forced to walk away. For his own safety, and for the safety of everyone around him.

If necessary, Sam can stop taking the medication. But if he gets someone killed because he goes out when he’s off his game, Darkside will never recover.

“I’ll do it,” Sam says, looking at Bruce with steel in his gaze. “Just tell me what I need to do.” __


	30. Chapter 30

Within a few days, it becomes obvious that Bruce’s medication is working.

Sam wakes every morning to an overwhelming sense of relief when he finds his name readily accessible in his mind. JARVIS quizzes Sam on his own life a couple of times every day, and Sam passes with flying colors. When Sam has an incident in the gym while sparring with Peter that results in a minor concussion, Sam is beyond relieved to discover that he’s lost no time at all.

The downside, however, is that Bruce’s worries came to fruition. The medication has a few of the usual side effects—nausea, dizziness, fatigue—and one unordinary one: Sam’s abilities have been affected, although exactly how badly is still unclear.

Sam and Tony have been running tests all week, trying to determine the extent of the damage to Sam’s abilities with little success. Sometimes Sam can catch whatever Tony throws at him, and other times the projectiles will sail right past Sam’s head like he isn’t even there to catch them. Sometimes Sam can teleport across the room, but sometimes he ends up in the wrong place, and occasionally he doesn’t move at all. Sometimes Sam’s demon sight refuses to activate, and his strength fades to nothing, and he can’t hear any more than an ordinary person could.

But it’s all just _sometimes_.

Sometimes is enough for Tony to put some provisions into place, including that Sam can’t teleport anywhere he actually needs to go. It’s for that reason that, when July 10th rolls around, Tony assigns one of his drivers to take Sam to his monthly meeting with Matt, Foggy, and Agent Ramirez.

The car picks Matt and Foggy up on the way to the coffee shop, and when they arrive the driver informs Sam that he’ll be back in an hour for the return trip. Matt and Foggy head to the counter to get drinks but Sam just sits down at the usual table, feeling a bit too green to risk even his usual croissant.

“How’re you feeling?” Foggy asks when he sits down, two coffees in his hands. One is passed off to Matt, who takes the seat across from Sam and tilts his head to one side, waiting expectantly for Sam’s answer.

“I’m okay,” Sam says, shrugging. “My memories seem to have stabilized for the time being, but my abilities are on the fritz.”

“Hopefully Banner and Stark will be able to find a solution,” Matt says with optimism in his tone that Sam is too tired to replicate.

“Hey, boys.” Ramirez slides into the empty seat, taking out her phone and turning it on. “Any new developments I should know about?”

Sam shakes his head, frowning. “Haven’t left New York, haven’t had any alcohol, haven’t handled any weapons.” Ramirez is being oddly to the point today, her words just a bit more clipped than in recent months. Sam figures Ramirez is in a hurry, but he still pays some extra attention to her actions.

“How about the job search?” Ramirez asks.

“Tony offered to start paying me for some of the work I’m doing for him,” Sam says. “Little odd jobs here and there, so it’s not much, but it’s a start. It’s letting me get back into the swing of things.” Ramirez nods, making a note.

“Anything new in your personal life?” Ramirez asks. “Have you spoken to your brother recently?” Sam glances at Matt, who looks as confused as Sam feels. Ramirez has never brought Dean up before, and in fact, Dean rarely comes up at all in these meetings. Sam tends to be the only one to mention Dean’s name, and even then it’s a brief reference.

“We talk once a week,” Sam says, shaking his head. “Mostly just updating each other. My adventures in the Tower, and his appeal.”

“How is that going?” Ramirez asks.

“Good, actually,” Foggy says—as Dean’s lawyers, Matt and Foggy know a lot more about Dean’s appeal than Sam does. “We’re meeting with a judge next week, and it’s looking good that Dean will get a retrial.”

“That’s good,” Ramirez says, smiling and putting away her phone. “That’s all I’ve got. Same place next month?” Matt and Foggy look at Sam, who nods.

“Same place,” Matt confirms, and Ramirez stands, offering a goodbye and exiting the coffee shop.

“Wasn’t expecting her to bring up Dean,” Foggy says, taking a sip of his coffee. Sam pulls out his phone and texts Tony to send the driver back earlier than expected.

“She seemed to be in a hurry.” Matt comments and Sam nods. So he wasn’t the only one who noticed.

“Driver is here,” Foggy says through a mouthful of croissant, pointing at the window. Sam follows Foggy’s finger and, sure enough, Tony’s driver is already outside.

“That was fast,” Sam says mostly to himself, standing and waiting for Matt and Foggy to get to their feet. They head outside, and while Foggy and Matt get into the car, Sam texts Tony to let him know Sam’s on his way back.

Tony’s been a bit overprotective, lately, not that Sam can blame him. With everything going on, Sam would be worried, too.

The entire ride back to the Tower is spent in silence. Foggy is dropped off at his apartment and Matt decides to join him, leaving Sam alone with Tony‘s driver, who—like all of Tony’s employees—knows not to try to initiate conversation.

Without the distraction of small talk, Sam’s mind wanders. He finds Dean’s face popping up in his mind, the idea of an appeal suddenly much more real.

This time next year, Dean could be free. He’d be back at Sam’s side, for the first time in almost two years.

Tony’s driver drops Sam off at the back entrance to the Tower and Sam heads for the private elevator, unwilling to deal with the crowded lobby. After requesting for JARVIS to take Sam to his floor, Sam falls silent once again, thoughts shifting from Dean’s appeal to Agent Ramirez.

Sam had thought they were doing well, their relationship cordial if not quite friendly. But there was something off about Ramirez today. Something... less than cordial about her reactions to Sam, to Dean’s appeal, even to Matt and Foggy.

The elevator doors open and Sam steps out into the hallway, shaking his head.

He’s overreacting. Maybe it’s the medication, making Sam notice for the first time something that’s always been there—or maybe it’s something he’s seen before and forgotten. Maybe Sam just thought his relationship with Ramirez was better than it really was.

When he reaches his room, Sam discovers that he’s exhausted. He changes quickly, taking off his leg and using his crutches to go through his nightly routine. By the time Sam reaches his bed, he’s barely conscious, swaying where he stands.

It’s no surprise, then, that Sam is out as soon as his head hits the pillow.

_The shadows swirl around Sam as he walks through the lot, obscuring his vision of everything around him. Sam strains to see anything in the darkness, but he only catches brief glimpses through the shadows._

_Peter, staring in horror at a spike of shadow that’s racing toward him._

_Tony, on his knees, tears in his eyes._

_Bucky, frozen mid-step, running in Sam’s direction._

_Each image is visible for only an instant before it’s ripped away, disappearing behind the static fuzz that has become all too familiar to Sam. His memories are improving but his visions are only getting worse, entire chunks of time disappearing into the cracks in Sam’s mind that are rapidly spreading._

_An arrow, piercing Sam’s stomach_.

_Sam winces, collapsing to his knees as the static leaves his eyes and enters his ears._

_“Sa-a-a-ammm-mm!” Bucky’s shout is disjointed, like a skipping CD, a glitch caused by a hairline fracture that’s slowly destroying everything Sam is. The sound is overwhelming, white noise that fills Sam’s ears and rattles around in his brain._

_Bucky drops to his knees at Sam’s side, and Natasha and Steve follow soon after. They’re all speaking, and Sam is, too, but the vibrations of his throat are no match for the static buzzing in his ears._

_Behind Steve, Agent Ramirez disappears around a corner, a long, swirling shadow following close behind her._


	31. Chapter 31

Sam pulls back his fist, grunts, and hits the punching bag as hard as he can. The bag sways but doesn’t swing, and the seams, though strained, don’t burst. Usually, when Sam is this high-strung, he’d have broken the punching bag on the first hit. But tonight, even an hour of repeated abuse can’t make a dent.

The strength Sam has come to depend on has left him, and all Sam has to show for it is spotty visions and slightly more consistent memories.

Earlier tonight, Sam had another vision, just as glitchy and strange as the one where he saw Ramirez. Sam doesn’t entirely trust the visions right now, figuring that the strangeness of them comes from the medication he’s taking. Sam has never seen Ramirez in his visions before, and recently he’s been losing pieces of the puzzle, not gaining them. Discovering her out of the blue makes no sense.

Right now, not much of anything makes sense.

Sam throws another punch, listening to the creaking of the chain that holds the bag up as it sways back and forth. The sound of the metal chains sliding would be deafening to Sam’s enhanced hearing but instead, it’s quiet. Without his enhanced hearing, Sam feels like there’s cotton in his ears—he’s so used to hearing everything dialed up to eleven that hearing at a normal level makes him feel like he’s going deaf. The same goes for Sam’s other senses, too.

Sam knows that the benefits of the medication he’s taking are worth the side effects. He knows that it’s better for him to have a functioning mind than to have the abilities that were never required to begin with. But Sam can’t help but feel like he’s missing something, like a chunk of him was torn out and locked away, out of his reach.

Sam reaches out and stops the swaying bag with his hand. The metal continues to creak.

A flash of pure, unbridled fear courses through Sam’s body as he steps away from the punching bag and looks wildly around the gym. The lights in the room flicker, going out once, twice, three times, and after the third, they don’t come back on. Sam backs into the wall, blinking hard.

His demon sight flickers like the lights, offering Sam brief glimpses of an approaching figure in the darkness.

Sam is able to see the first attack coming and he dives to the side, listening to the metallic squeal that comes when Penumbra’s claws rake down the wall of the gym. The swirling shadows are almost indistinguishable from the dark room, and Sam knows that as soon as his demon sight gives out, he’ll be completely helpless.

Sam can only see Penumbra in flashes, snapshots of her movements that make her appear to be a series of still images. It feels like Sam is standing in front of a strobe light, and with every flash Penumbra grows closer and closer, clawed hand outstretched.

Sam closes his eyes and allows the room to go dark.

If he can’t fight Penumbra with his abilities, he’ll have to depend on his training.

Sam has survived daevas before. He can do it again.

“JARVIS, call Tony!” Sam shouts, ducking and rolling forward as soon as the words leave his mouth. Sam feels Penumbra moving over him, brushing past like a breeze, cold as ice. Sam shivers, climbing to his feet and raising his arms defensively. His eyes, however, remain closed—there’s nothing for him to see.

“Your friends will be too late,” Penumbra says, her voice everywhere at once, loud and quiet and echoing off of the walls of the gym. Sam strains to find the origin, keeping his breathing low and shallow, ready to move at any moment. Sam feels Penumbra’s approach, feels the cool tentacle of shadow that darts toward him, and he dives to the side once again.

Sam can’t outrun Penumbra forever, and they both know it.

“What do you want with me?” Sam asks, balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to dodge the next attack. If he can keep Penumbra talking, he might just be able to pinpoint her location long enough to stay out of her way. And right now, that’s the only way he’s going to survive this.

“I want nothing,” Penumbra says from Sam’s right, and he starts running in the opposite direction, feet pounding against the concrete floor of the gym. When Sam has moved far enough away he stops, then retraces his steps slowly, careful to be as quiet as possible. Sam has no idea how well Penumbra can see in the dark, but if he keeps moving, Sam might be able to buy himself a little time. Time that he desperately needs.

“Well, then why are you doing this?” Sam asks, continuing to move through the gym, walking sometimes and teleporting others. Sam can only teleport short distances right now, and a lot of the time he ends up somewhere he wasn’t planning on being. But right now, the only place Sam is trying to get is away.

Sam does need to get to the shooting range, so he can arm himself. Bullets won’t do much against Penumbra, but any weapon is better than none at all. But Sam doubts he’ll be able to reach the range by walking, and he couldn’t teleport there if he tried.

“Asmodeus says hello.” Penumbra’s voice comes from right behind Sam and he whirls around, throwing up his hands defensively. Claws come down hard and fast, tearing through Sam’s forearms like they’re made of tissue paper. Sam feels the blood hitting his face and bites back a scream, dropping his arms to his sides and backpedaling as fast as he can.

Penumbra follows Sam slowly, lashing out every few steps, playing with Sam like a cat plays with a ball of yarn. She slices Sam’s left thigh with one swipe, his upper chest with another, and a third catches the top of Sam’s ear. It’s the fourth blow that takes Sam down, a single claw that hits him just below the chin and drags upward, tracing a line through the edge of Sam’s lips and up almost to his left eye. Sam does scream, this time, as fire flows from beneath his skin, coating his face and filling his throat. Sam falls on his back, and he feels Penumbra above him.

Sam’s eyes fly open and he’s greeted with darkness. He can’t see anything, but he can picture Penumbra’s hand raised above him, ready to deal the final blow.

A flash of light appears from Sam’s right and Penumbra’s weight disappears, as does her chill. Sam rolls onto his side and coughs, spraying the blood collecting in his mouth onto the floor of the gym.

“Mr. Sam!” Peter yells, and Sam rolls all the way onto his stomach, ignoring the way his numerous cuts protest being pressed against the ground. Sam plants his arms and pushes himself up to his knees, and it’s right about then that the emergency lights in the gym come on, revealing Peter and Tony standing a few yards away near the door. There’s no sign of Penumbra, but Sam knows better than to think that she’s gone.

Penumbra came here to kill Sam, and she won’t leave until she does.

“Are you okay?” Tony asks, and Sam almost laughs at the absurdity of the question. Drops of blood fall from Sam’s face one at a time, splattering against the floor with the rhythmic accuracy of a metronome. Red rivers run down both of Sam’s arms, following winding paths between his veins and collecting in pools around his fingertips, which are planted firmly on the ground. Sam’s thigh burns with every motion, and his chest aches with every breath. Sam wouldn’t have survived another hit. He might not survive the ones he’s already taken.

“Let’s get you up,” Tony says, walking over to Sam and hesitating when he sees the amount of blood pooling around him.

“I’ve lost more before,” Sam says, building up his stubbornness as a shield, unwilling to think about what might have happened, what might still happen. Rather than helping Sam up, Tony pulls out his phone and steps away. From what little he hears, Sam infers that Tony is calling an ambulance.

Peter is the one who steps forward to assist, offering his hand to Sam. Sam shakes his head and spits out another mouthful of blood, smiling weakly and immediately regretting it when the cut on his face stings.

“Come on.” Peter urges, and Sam nods, climbing unsteadily to his feet with some help from Peter, who ducks under one of Sam’s arms as soon as he can. Tony does the same on Sam’s other side, and together, the three of them head out of the gym. They’ve almost made it to the elevator when Sam catches a whiff of something that makes his knee buckle beneath him.

“Sam!” Tony shouts in alarm as he and Peter struggle to keep Sam on his feet.

Sam looks around, then spots where the smell came from—an air vent, next to the elevator. As Sam watches, a wisp of gray smoke threads through the vent and up toward the ceiling. Sam’s heart drops into his stomach.

Penumbra isn’t here to kill Sam. She’s here to smoke him out.

Avengers Tower is on fire.


	32. Chapter 32

“Fire.” Sam gasps out, struggling to keep his balance and his breath. Blood drips into his eye from a cut somewhere higher on his head and Sam lifts one hand, ignoring the pain radiating through his arms as he wipes the blood from his eyes. “Penumbra set the tower on fire.”

Tony and Peter exchange a worried look, and Sam begins to wonder if they don’t believe him.

“Smoke. In the vents.” Sam insists, pointing in that direction and nearly face planting when his movement causes Tony to lose his grip.

“Woah, hey, calm down, Sasquatch,” Tony says, tightening his grip on Sam’s arm and hauling Sam back to his feet. “We believe you. Just trying to figure out how to get you out of here.”

Sam shakes his head. “No, forget me. This place is full of people, we have to help them.”

“You can barely walk.”

“I can manage.” To prove his point, Sam pulls away from Tony and Peter, taking a few steps before he stumbles once again. Tony and Peter immediately reach out but Sam is quick to right himself, shaking his head. “See? I’m fine.”

Tony sighs, shaking his head. “Alright, fine. We don’t have time for this.” Tony turns to Peter. “Penumbra’s clearly disabled the fire alarms, or they would have gone off by now. I’m guessing JARVIS is out of commission, too. I need you to get the word out and start evacuating. Go from the top and work your way down.” Peter nods, disappearing up the staircase nearest to the elevator. “You and me are going downstairs to see just how bad this is,” Tony says.

“What about May?” Sam asks.

“She’s fine. We sent her out of the Tower as soon as the power went out.”

Sam nods, happy to hear that if nothing else, Peter’s aunt is safe. Sam is relatively confident that Peter will also be able to get clear before anything happens—and Tony, too, assuming he gets into an Iron Man suit before running headfirst into the fire. If anything goes wrong, Sam is the only one at risk.

What else is new?

Tony and Sam head for the same staircase Peter took, making their way down the stairs. Sam is moving slowly, every step sending a jolt of pain through his left leg, but Tony seems content to keep Sam’s pace, talking quickly into his watch, presumably to the fire department or maybe even to the Avengers. Either way, backup is probably on its way.

It says something about what shape Sam is in that that knowledge is extremely comforting.

“That definitely isn’t good.” Tony remarks when he and Sam reach the 9th floor and find that the stairs descending to the next level have been obscured by smoke. Sam and Tony have encountered few people on their way down, but Sam knows that the majority of people still in the tower at this hour would either be in the lobby or on one of the lower levels, which are mostly office space. “Cap and the others are coming by Quinjet, and the fire department should already be here,” Tony says, opening the door to the 9th floor and looking for any sign of human life.

Tony is about to close the door and move on when Sam hears a faint shout, barely audible through the cotton in his ears. “Wait,” Sam says, stepping into the hallway. “Hello? Can anyone hear me?” Sam calls.

“Here!” A voice shouts, faint but clearly coming from this level. Sam takes a few more steps down the hallway but stops when he realizes that Tony isn’t following him.

When he turns around, Sam finds Tony still standing in the doorway, clearly torn between helping whoever was calling and continuing down to the next floor, where more of his employees are presumably trapped as well.

To Sam, the solution is obvious.

“Go,” Sam says, gesturing for Tony to head downstairs. “I’ve got this. Get everyone else out.” Tony hesitates, looking Sam over. Sam knows he must look like crap, bloody and cut up as he is. But the adrenaline rush has hit him hard, and despite his numerous injuries, Sam honestly isn’t hurting. He’ll surely regret doing this later, assuming he lives to do so. But right now, none of that matters.

Sam’s life has always come second.

“Go!” Sam shouts, his words punctuated by a sinister creaking sound that rips through the air. Tony’s eyes widen in horror and he disappears down the stairs, clearly coming to the same realization that Sam just has—that sound was the tower’s supports beginning to fail.

Penumbra isn’t just trying to smoke Sam out. She’s trying to bring Avengers Tower down on top of him.

“Over here!” The voice yells again, markedly more urgent than before. Sam ignores every instinct screaming at him to get as far away from here as possible and turns away from the safety of the staircase.

The further he walks, the warmer the air gets until Sam feels like he’s going to get burned just by being here. The smoke is getting thicker, too, and eventually, Sam is forced to take off his shirt and wrap it around his face like a makeshift mask, just to offer his mouth and nose a little bit of protection.

“Where are you?!” Sam asks, coughing harshly when the next breath he takes sears his throat. The fire didn’t start on this floor, but it’s spread here now, surrounding Sam on all sides. Sam is having to step over smaller fires in the doorways every few steps, and he knows that he probably won’t be able to get much further.

Another creaking noise has Sam pausing. It sounds a lot closer now, a lot more dangerous. Sam is running out of time.

The ceiling a few feet behind Sam suddenly buckles, dumping fire and debris into the hallway. Sam jumps away as a wall of fire roars to life, blocking Sam’s path back to the staircase.

There’s no going back now.

“In here!” A woman urges, and Sam turns back around to find a dark-skinned woman in a lab coat leaning out of a doorway, desperately waving Sam over. He glances back at the fire one last time, then follows the woman through the doorway.

The room turns out to be a lab, probably meant for chemistry considering the number of chemicals Sam can see, all secured behind glass doors. Three more people, all wearing lab coats and gloves, are running back and forth across the room, carrying various bottles of chemicals.

“What’s going on?” Sam asks, feeling a bit underdressed in only a pair of torn gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt as a mask. “You need to get out of here, now.”

“We couldn’t leave these chemicals out.” The woman says, gesturing to her coworkers. “They could explode and bring the building down on the heads of everyone downstairs, or disperse into the air and poison half of Manhattan. We couldn’t risk it.” Sam nods, watching one man drain a large brown jug into a larger white storage container, which another man loads onto a trolley. The final scientist, a woman, is checking all of the glass-doored cabinets, presumably for any other dangerous chemicals.

The tower creaks again, and Sam and the four scientists all stop to listen.

“I don’t think your chemicals are needed to bring the tower down.” Sam comments and the woman nods, a look of determination on her face.

“Let’s go!” She orders, and the three other scientists head for a back door. One of the men produces a silver key and uses it to unlock the door, stepping outside just as the building creaks again and Sam feels the floor shift beneath his feet. The creaking turns to a cracking sound above Sam’s head, and he lunges forward without thinking, grabbing the two scientists with the trolley and pulling them back just as the ceiling gives way, dropping tons of debris on the fourth scientist’s head.

The other male scientist curses colorfully and pulls his female coworker back, clearing the way for Sam to move forward, grabbing pieces of debris and tossing them down the hallway. Every piece is scorching and a few are actively on fire, but Sam ignores the pain in his hands as he digs through the pile, trying to find the fourth scientist.

“What’s his name?!” Sam calls over his shoulder, stopping for a moment to rub his blistered hands on his pants.

“Evan! Evan Mitchell!” The lead scientist calls back from the other end of the lab, where she’s retreated with her two coworkers.

Sam turns back to the pile of debris and gets back to work. “Hang on, Evan!” He yells. “I’m going to get you out of there!” A pained groan has Sam working harder, his yellow eyes flickering. Sam feels a bit of his enhanced strength return and uses it to remove a particularly large piece of debris—Sam is pretty sure it’s from the foundation of the tower, which is worrying—before he loses his abilities again.

Finally, Sam is able to see Mitchell’s face. The scientist appears to be shaken but relatively unharmed, shielded from most of the debris by the large chunk of concrete Sam just removed. Sam reaches out and grabs the man’s shoulder, then closes his eyes and hopes against hope that his teleportation will work long enough to get them out of here.

When Sam opens his eyes again, he’s standing in the middle of a crowd of panicked people on the street. Mitchell collapses to the ground and everyone in the immediate vicinity stops to stare at him and at Sam, whose demon sight is almost blinding him with the number of souls around. If Sam had the time, he’d be worried about his identity, but for now, all he can do is be thankful that his black t-shirt makes a good rudimentary mask. Without checking to see if Mitchell is okay—someone in the crowd will surely help him—Sam teleports back inside, finding himself a few feet away from the three remaining scientists.

“Let’s get you out of here,” Sam says as the tower creaks again. The lead scientist shoves her female coworker at Sam, who teleports her down to the ground a few feet away from where he took Mitchell. Sam is glad to see that there are people crowded around Mitchell, helping him sit up and breathe. Sam is made even happier when he looks up at the tower and sees Peter swing away from it, carrying someone in his arms, and Tony shooting through a window on the third floor with two women hanging from his arms. The tower creaks again, the bending metal so loud it’s almost deafening, but even that sound is washed out by the sound of engines as a Quinjet appears overhead, preparing to drop several Avengers into the action.

One look at the smoke streaming from every window of Avengers Tower tells Sam that the Avengers might not be fast enough.

Sam teleports back into the lab, reaching for the lead scientist with one hand and her last remaining coworker with the other. The building shakes again and the sound returns, no longer a creak but a shriek, and Sam can feel the moment the metal supports buckle and Avengers Tower comes crashing down, one floor at a time. Sam closes his eyes and hopes as hard as he can, but when he opens them again he’s still on the 9th floor, still gripping the two terrified scientists, and the yellow in his vision is flickering like mad, on and off and on and off again until Sam has a headache on top of all of his other problems. As the adrenaline seeps from Sam’s bones, the pain of his injuries returns with a vengeance, and Sam knows that he won’t be able to teleport again.

When the ceiling finally collapses into the lab, Sam can only manage a gasp before his vision goes yellow, then white, then black.


	33. Chapter 33

Sam wakes with a startled gasp, shooting into a seated position as memories of fire crawling up his neck bounce around in his mind. Given that the last thing Sam remembers is being surrounded by flames, it’s not much of a surprise that his subconscious decided to bring back the nightmares of burning in Hell.

Sam’s mind has always had a twisted sense of irony.

The room Sam is lying in bears a resemblance to the medical floor of Avengers Tower, but given the circumstances, Sam sincerely doubts that’s where he is. Any doubts about the effectiveness of the medication Sam is on have been put to rest by the clarity with which he can recall everything that happened in the tower, from the moment the power went out to the ceiling collapsing on top of him. Sam swallows hard as he recalls the final, strangled gasp the tower gave just before it fell. There's no doubt in Sam's mind that he won't be returning to Avengers Tower. The damage done was far too great.

For someone with a poor history of homes, Sam sure got attached to this one fast.

Sam's mind strays to the other places he'd once considered his home. It's a very short list—Sam could count the locations on one hand. His first real home was Bobby's house since he didn't remember the home in Lawrence. The second was the apartment Sam shared with Jessica in college. Then came the house Sam shared with Amelia, and the bunker, and finally Avengers Tower. Thirty-seven years, a lifetime of travel, a million beds, and Sam had five real homes.

Four out of five times, Sam's home ended up in ashes. Three out of five times, he almost burned with it.

Remembering his recent injuries brings the pain they’re causing to the forefront, and Sam winces when his forearms sting. Sam’s lower arms are wrapped in bandages, and when he clenches his fists he can feel the pull of stitches. Sam’s palms are red and blistered, but it doesn’t hurt to use them, so Sam pushes himself into a seated position and moves the sheet so he can see his legs.

Someone took off Sam’s prosthetic leg, and Sam wouldn’t be surprised to learn that it was destroyed when the tower came down. Sam’s left thigh is bandaged similarly to his arms, and Sam figures he’ll have some new scars on all three limbs once the bandages come off.

Sam’s abrupt awakening must have triggered some kind of alert because Sam has just finished his examination when the door opens to admit Bruce and Dr. Williams.

“Hey,” Sam says, coughing in an attempt to clear the roughness in his throat that was presumably caused by smoke inhalation. The coughing causes sharp pain in the left side of Sam’s face, and he lifts one hand, running his fingers down the bandage covering a good portion of his face. Sam can feel the stitches beneath the bandage, and he uses that knowledge to picture the long scar that must stretch from his chin almost up to his left eye.

“Hello, Sam.” Dr. Williams says. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a building fell on me.” It’s not a lie—Sam feels like crap. His entire body is consumed by a dull ache that’s aggravated every time he moves. The simple motion of lifting his arm stings and every word pulls at the stitches in Sam’s cheek that force the left side of his mouth to curve slightly upward.

“You’re lucky to be alive.” Dr. Williams admits. “You lost a lot of blood, and it’s a miracle that you managed to avoid most of the falling debris.”

“The only part of your body that was crushed was your leg,” Bruce says. “Luckily, it was the prosthetic one. Tony’s making a replacement as we speak.”

“How long was I out?” Sam asks.

“Only about twelve hours.” Dr. Williams says.

“Casualties?”

“So far, four dead and thirteen injured, yourself included.” Bruce looks hesitant, and Sam figures he knows why.

“The two scientists I was trying to save, they didn’t make it.” It’s not a question but Bruce nods anyway, and Sam shakes his head.

He could have saved them. He almost did. But his abilities failed him when he needed them most.

Sam knows what he has to do. “Take me off the medication.”

Bruce frowns. “Are you sure? We have no idea how bad your memory loss has gotten.”

“Do it,” Sam says. “I can’t be defenseless like that again. I could have saved those people if I’d been able to teleport, but I couldn’t. They died because my abilities were dampened.”

Bruce hesitates but nods. “It’s your decision,” Bruce says, exchanging a look with Williams. “We’ll lower your dosage over the next week. The medication should be completely out of your system within ten days.”

“Thank you,” Sam says.

“I’ll keep working,” Bruce says, setting his jaw. “Tony and I have been trying to figure out why your abilities are dampened. If we can identify the cause, we can synthesize an alternative medication that will prevent your memory loss but allow you to retain your abilities.” With that, Bruce exits the room. Dr. Williams checks Sam’s vitals and his injuries, then leaves as well.

Sam is only left alone for about thirty seconds before the door opens again, this time admitting Tony and Steve.

“What’s up?” Sam asks, immediately noticing how hesitant both Avengers look. Whatever else happened last night, whatever Sam wasn’t a part of, it couldn’t have been good. “How bad is the damage?”

“Catastrophic,” Tony says, shaking his head. “Penumbra knew what she was doing. She took out the supports, made absolutely certain that the tower would collapse. Avengers Tower is officially a pile of high-tech rubble.”

Sam shakes his head in disbelief. Tony was always planning to sell the tower eventually, but to have it destroyed must be painful. Avengers Tower was Tony’s pride and joy—and for several years, his home.

It was Sam’s home, too.

Tony swallows hard, then clears his throat. “You and I are moving into the compound.” He continues. “I’ve already spoken to your parole officer, and she understands the extenuating circumstances and signed off on your living here for the rest of your court-mandated residence.”

“Are Peter and May alright?” Sam asks.

“Physically, yes,” Steve says. “Peter has a couple of minor burns and a few scrapes, but with his healing factor, he should be as good as new in no time. Emotionally, on the other hand...” Steve trails off, exchanging a weighted look with Tony.

“What?” Sam asks. “What is it?”

“After we got you out of the tower, we brought you upstate,” Tony says. “Penumbra must have followed us because she tried to get into the medical bay.”

“Tony’s security system was able to detect her, and when the alarms went off Penumbra cleared out.” Steve continues. “Still, she clearly wasn’t happy that you survived.”

Sam disagrees—Penumbra doesn’t want him dead, she never has. “This whole time she’s been hell-bent on capturing me, not killing me.” He points out. “This was the ideal time to grab me. I was unconscious and injured, and she knows my abilities aren’t working properly.”

“We need to get you off the medication,” Tony says. “You’ll be able to heal up faster and defend yourself better. Plus, I’m beginning to think you’ll be in more danger without your abilities than without your memories.”

“Already done,” Sam says. “Bruce agreed to get me off the meds by the end of the week.” Sam doesn’t mention how worried he is that either choice will end badly. Sam is stuck between a rock and a hard place, forced to choose between the memories he needs to protect himself and the powers he needs to protect everyone else. The attack on the tower proved to Sam that while he’s Penumbra’s primary target, she isn’t afraid of immense collateral damage.

Four people were killed and another twelve injured when Avengers Tower collapsed. And there’s no doubt in Sam’s mind that Penumbra is just getting started.

Sam will do whatever it takes to keep his friends and all the innocent bystanders in New York safe.

His life has always come second.


	34. Chapter 34

Sam stares at the mirror, and for a moment the world stands still.

Two days after the tower fell, Dr. Williams removed the bandages from Sam’s face. The damage there was mostly superficial, but Dr. Williams warned Sam that he’d have a permanent scar. Now, seeing it for the first time, Sam understands Dr. Williams’s hesitancy.

The scar is a jagged line of deep red, a bolt of fiery lightning crawling up Sam’s face. It starts at the center of his chin and climbs at an angle, catching the left corner of his mouth and pulling it up into a permanent smirk. The scar tapers off at Sam’s cheekbone, just below his left eye.

Looking at that scar now, Sam is glad Darkside’s mask covers his mouth rather than his eyes. The rest of Sam’s scars will be worse, the lines on his arms and the cuts on his leg and chest, but those can also be easily hidden. Sam’s face is exposed when he’s out and about. There will be no hiding that scar except beneath Darkside’s mask.

Sam’s gaze shifts away from his mouth and he meets his own eyes, staring into them and willing them to change color. The triggering of Sam’s abilities seems to have devolved following his use of the anti-memory loss medication, and now that he’s slowly regaining his powers, Sam is being forced to resort to the tricks he used back when he was first discovering what he could do. Sam hasn’t had to blink to activate his demon sight in months, but now it refuses to turn on otherwise, and sometimes even when Sam squeezes his eyes shut and wishes as hard as he can, they remain the dull hazel Sam is used to.

Now, Sam blinks, watching his irises briefly turn white before fading back to hazel. Repeated blinking produces mixed results, sometimes turning the world yellow and sometimes doing nothing at all. Even when Sam succeeds, his demon sight only persists for a few seconds before petering out.

Next Sam turns his attention to his other abilities. Like his demon sight, Sam’s teleportation only works on occasion, and only if he uses his old trick of closing his eyes and picturing his target location in his mind. Sam shuts his eyes and imagines the central lounge of the Avengers Compound in as much detail as possible. When he opens his eyes again, Sam is moderately surprised to find himself standing next to one of the couches in the lounge rather than in front of the mirror in his suite’s bathroom.

“Looks like you’re teleporting again.” Natasha comments from her position on the chair to Sam’s left. She’s holding a book in her hands, but she isn’t looking at it.

Sam smiles and shakes his head. “Only sometimes.” He says, closing his eyes and picturing the space directly to Natasha’s left. This time, Sam finds himself exactly where he started, and it takes two more tries before Sam actually ends up at Natasha’s side, significantly more tired than he was a moment ago.

That’s another thing Sam has been noticing—he tires much more easily now. Teleporting alone only twice in a row exhausts Sam to the same level that teleporting three people did a few months ago. Sam hopes it’s because he’s still healing from his injuries, or perhaps because he’s out of practice. But he can’t help but wonder if maybe there’s something seriously wrong with him.

Well, other than everything that’s already wrong with him.

Sam shakes his head again, trying to push the dark thoughts from his mind. With everything going on recently—Tony has been busy with the clean-up efforts at Avengers Tower, and the rest of the Avengers are always on the lookout for Penumbra—Sam doesn’t have time to deal with personal issues beyond his abilities. For now, Sam’s number one priority is getting back his strength, and telekinesis, and every other power he’s lost. Everything else is secondary.

Tony walks into the lounge from the kitchen and pauses, looking curiously between Sam and Natasha, who has returned her attention to her book. Tony is holding an apple in his hand and Sam puts one palm out, attempting to lift the apple into the air. Tony watches the apple rise a few inches, and when it abruptly falls, Tony catches it and takes a bite.

“You’re making progress,” Tony says, walking over to the couch. “Before long, you’ll be back to normal.”

“Whatever that is,” Sam replies. “How’s the clean-up effort going?”

Tony grins, setting his apple down on the coffee table and rummaging through his pockets. “They’re going pretty well. Should be all cleared up within the next week or so, barring any complications.” Tony produces a small black box from his jacket pocket and tosses it to Sam.

“You proposing?” Sam asks, raising an eyebrow as he examines the box, which is the exact dimensions of a ring box. Tony laughs and shakes his head.

“Open it, Sasquatch,” Tony says. “That’s the only box I had on hand.” Sam opens the box and pulls out Dean’s amulet, staring at it for a long moment. Sam sets the box down on the arm of Natasha’s chair and puts the necklace on, tucking it under his shirt.

“Thanks,” Sam says, wondering what else of his meager possessions were buried beneath the rubble when Avengers Tower fell. Sam hadn’t even considered that his belongings—as well as Tony’s—were still inside when the tower came down. Tony waves off Sam’s thanks and picks up his apple, taking another bite and sitting down on the couch.

Sam practices his telekinesis for a while, lifting the TV remote about a foot off of the coffee table and lowering it again. Every few tries, the remote slips from Sam’s grasp and falls hard, causing Tony to jump and Natasha to pause in her reading.

The last time Sam’s powers were this out of control was after Damien Lawson attacked him in lockup, and he had a serious concussion and could barely walk. Lawson nearly killed Sam, and the only reason Sam’s friends weren’t hurt was that the Judge didn’t care about them. Penumbra clearly has no qualms against hurting or even killing everyone Sam cares about. Hell, she’d probably enjoy it.

Without his abilities, Sam is no match for Penumbra. If he ever fully loses his powers again, even temporarily, he won’t be able to protect the people who mean the most to him.

"I can't let something like the attack at the tower happen again," Sam says out loud, shaking his head. Tony and Natasha both look up, watching as Sam sits down on the arm of Natasha’s chair. "If my powers are ever diminished or blocked for whatever reason, I have to be able to defend myself."

"You're already practically a ninja." Tony points out, dropping his feet onto the coffee table as he leans back into the couch, hands resting behind his head. "Just use your fists."

"Fists aren't enough if you're fighting a demon or a vampire. Fists aren’t enough if you’re fighting Penumbra.” Sam says. "I can take her on bare-handed with my abilities because I have super strength, but without them, she’s way too strong."

"I'd say use a gun, but I don't think I've ever seen you shoot one." Natasha comments. "Maybe another weapon?" Sam hesitates, then stands, scratching distractedly at the jagged scar on his cheek.

"I saw some weapons when I trained with you guys a while back," Sam says. "I have an idea." He turns and heads for the door without another word, forcing Tony and Natasha to follow him as he heads to the Compound gym. Steve, Bucky, and Clint are all inside when Sam, Tony, and Natasha arrive. Steve and Bucky are sparring and Clint is doing target practice, but Sam ignores all of them in favor of the weapons rack he saw the first time he was here. Just like the first time, Sam’s eyes are immediately drawn to the throwing knives, but unlike the first time, Sam grabs them without hesitation, heading over to the shooting range and taking the stall to Clint's left.

"Throwing knives?" Tony asks curiously, following Sam over with Natasha at his side. Clint stops shooting and glances at Sam curiously.

"You thinking about picking up throwing stars?" He asks.

"Not stars. Knives." Sam holds one of the throwing knives up. "When I was younger, my dad wanted to teach me to use a gun, but my uncle thought I was too young and they were too dangerous, especially if my dad planned to leave one with me when he went hunting. Bobby didn't want to risk the gun going off and hurting me. So my dad taught me to throw knives instead." Sam wraps his fingers around one of the knives and launches it at the target at the far end of the range.

"How long have you been throwing knives, then?" Natasha asks.

"My dad started teaching me when I was eight. Before I even knew about the supernatural," Sam says, throwing another knife. "When I learned the truth, he decided to teach me to shoot because it was more practical. I've never been a huge fan of guns, but he was right about them being the most effective weapon on a hunt. You can make bullets that can kill just about anything if you have the right supplies." Sam throws a third knife but no one's eyes follow it, all focused on Sam rather than what he's doing.

"So you're thinking about adding throwing knives to your arsenal?" Natasha asks, and Sam nods.

"A gun would be obvious on my person, but I've been hiding knives on my body for years," Sam explains, throwing yet another knife at the target. "Throwing knives are small and easy to conceal, and they aren't something people tend to look for when they're searching you for weapons. Plus, Tony could probably make them out of all sorts of materials. Iron, silver, an angel blade..." Sam trails off when Tony's eyes light up.

"I could make throwing knives out of the metal alloy I used for Barton's arrows and Romanoff's bullets," Tony says, the wheels in his head clearly spinning. "A composite of iron, silver, and a melted down angel blade, with a fair amount of salt, holy water, and dead man's blood mixed in for good measure. Kills pretty much anything." Sam nods, grinning.

"I'll have to work with you on the design, maybe add some sigils carved into the surface, but I think we could make some pretty effective weapons."

"And if your abilities ever get blocked again, you'll have something you can use to defend yourself." Natasha agrees.

"Throwing knives?" Steve speaks up, jogging over with Bucky on his heels. "Aren't those pretty risky as far as weapons go?"

"I'm not great with them." Bucky admits, and that in of itself makes most of the Avengers uneasy—there aren't many weapons that Bucky doesn't have deadly accuracy with.

"And neither am I." Natasha replies. "But I'm not particularly talented with a bow and arrow, either, or a shield. Just because they're an unconventional weapon doesn't mean they're a bad idea."

"Plus, Sam has telekinesis." Tony points out. "In most battles, he can direct the knives midair if he misses his shot."

"I don't need telekinesis." Sam remarks, throwing the final knife and stepping back.

"JARVIS, how'd he do?" Tony asks, and JARVIS brings the target forward. The Avengers' jaws drop almost simultaneously as they take in Sam's target.

The five knives are standing edge to edge in a vertical line stretching from the center of the target's forehead to the middle of his chest. They're not perfectly spaced or precisely angled—Sam isn't _that_ good—but they're in line, and they clearly hit the target almost exactly where he wanted them to.

"You dropped your hands after you threw, you couldn't have been using telekinesis." Clint comments.

"I've been doing this for nearly thirty years." Sam replies. "I know what I'm doing."

"So it's settled," Tony says. "Sam and I will design some supernatural-killing throwing knives and maybe a nice holster while we're at it."

Sam nods, a hesitant grin finding its way to his face. "And in a few weeks, Darkside will have some weapons besides his powers."


	35. Chapter 35

The knife sails through the air, hitting its mark with a quiet thud. Two more follow, one landing a few inches above the first and the other slamming into the hilt, causing both knives to dissolve into small orange cubes that disappear as soon as they hit the ground.

“Again.”

Sam clenches his fist and when he opens it, another knife has materialized in his palm. Sam throws it across the room and he and Tony watch as the orange hologram sails through the air, landing squarely in the center of the target but not as deep as Sam would like.

“I think we’re getting closer.” Tony comments, waving a hand dismissively at the ceiling. Both the knives and the target disappear, and Tony pulls up a more detailed version of the knife, making a slight adjustment. “Try this.” He shrinks the hologram and plucks it out of the blueprint, tossing the knife to Sam, who catches it. The blue target reappears and Sam throws the knife again, watching as it lands just to the left of the bullseye.

They’ve been working on Sam’s throwing knives for hours now. When Tony first brought Sam to his lab, they started with the exact design of the knives from the gym. Tony created a hologram and Sam threw it at the target. Then one of them suggested a tweak, and Tony adjusted the hologram and passed it back to Sam, who threw it again. Then, the process repeated, throw, tweak, throw, tweak, throw. So far, they’ve gone through about fifty iterations, each more refined than the last. By the time they’re done, Sam expects he’ll have the most highly-advanced throwing knives in the world, perfectly made for his hands only. It's been a while since Sam felt comfortable with a weapon in his hands, but these knives are necessary to protect the people Sam cares about. There's no doubt in his mind that he's making the right decision.

“It’s gone off-balance,” Sam says, throwing a second knife and getting the same result—a slight deviation from the target to the left. “Whatever you just adjusted, make the same change on the other end. Balance it back out.” Tony complies, and Sam throws another few knives and suggests that Tony sharpen the point just a touch.

“You know, we haven’t talked about what happened,” Tony says conversationally, working on Sam’s requested tweak as he speaks. “At the Tower, I mean. You never told me what exactly happened after I left you on the ninth floor.”

Sam throws the new knife and shakes his head when it deviates in the opposite direction. Tony overcorrected with his adjustment. “There’s not much to say,” Sam says. “I found four scientists trying to secure chemicals. The way to the staircase had been blocked by collapsing debris, so we tried to find another exit. I got two of the scientists out. Then the tower came down.”

“At least you remember it.” Tony comments, holding up the holographic knife and frowning. “The medication should be completely out of your system by tomorrow. How are your powers coming along?” Tony makes some kind of adjustment and then nods to Sam, who produces another knife.

“Still a bit glitchy, but they’re coming back,” Sam says, throwing the new knife and smiling when it hits its mark. “Demon sight is pretty much back to normal, but the teleportation is still a bit iffy. I won’t be able to test my strength or senses until I can get someone to piss me off enough to really trigger them.”

“Remind me to ask Cap for some help on that front.” Tony replies, smirking. “And the telekinesis?” Sam tosses his holographic knife in the air and then waves his hand, sending the knife in Tony’s direction. It freezes an inch from Tony’s nose then drops to the lab table, where it dissolves into orange cubes. Tony shakes his head. “Guess that answers that question.”

“As long as my memory stays mostly intact, I should be good to go next time Penumbra decides to cut the power.” Sam pulls up the blueprint of the knife and scrutinizes it closely. There’s still something slightly off about the blade, but he can’t figure out exactly what it is. “Assuming, of course, that we get some warning this time.” It’s not so much a jab but an acknowledgment that something went wrong with Tony’s security system at the tower. Either the system isn’t working the way it's supposed to, or Penumbra has figured out how to get around triggering JARVIS’s alarms. Which doesn’t bode well for Sam or his friends.

Tony shakes his head, his smile fading. “Hopefully your memory doesn’t go out. I don’t know what we’ll do if it does.” Bruce is supposedly working on an adjusted medication, but no one knows what about the first one caused Sam’s powers to go on the fritz, so they have no way to keep it from happening again.

The mention of Sam's memory brings an uncomfortable thought to the surface. Ever since Penumbra’s attack on the tower, Sam’s broken visions have been lingering at the back of his mind. Penumbra targeted him at the tower, but that doesn’t mean she won’t go after the Avengers again, or Peter. Although Sam hasn't had a vision in a while, that doesn't mean the things he saw won't come to pass. And if Sam's memory does go out, he won't be able to do anything to stop the vision from playing out.

Swallowing hard, Sam throws another knife. This time, the blade goes wide, hitting the target at an angle and clattering to the ground. Tony sends a concerned look Sam’s way and Sam shakes his head, gesturing for JARVIS to cut the holograms.

“There’s something I need to tell you.” Sam says, leaning against the nearest lab bench and gripping it so tightly his knuckles turn white. Sam’s been going back and forth for days now about whether or not to tell Tony about his vision. The last thing Sam wants is for Tony to have another burden on his shoulders, but Sam is terrified that he’ll lose his memory again. If Sam’s memory goes out and they can’t get it back, no one will be able to protect Peter. Sam can’t trust his own mind, so he has to trust Tony’s. He has to trust that Tony will be able to do something.

He has to trust that telling Tony is the way to change what’s set in stone.

Tony just sits back and crosses his arm, raising one eyebrow inquisitively. Sam takes a moment to steady himself, a few different openings running through his head, none of which feel right.

Eventually, Sam decides to just come out with it. “I’ve been having a vision.” He says. Tony immediately straightens, but Sam holds up one hand and shakes his head. If Tony interrupts him now, Sam will never be able to finish. He has to get the words out before he changes his mind. “I’m standing in an open area. Concrete, like a parking lot." Sam looks down at his hands, running his thumb distractedly along the faded scar on his palm. "There’s a body on the ground, a short distance away from me. He isn’t dead yet, but I know he will be soon.” Sam closes his eyes and bites the inside of his cheek. “I see you drop down beside the body, see Penumbra disappear out of the corner of my eye. I know she’s the one who kills him, even if I never see it happen. It has to be her.” Sam doesn’t mention the doubt he wrestled with for almost a month, convinced that somehow he was the one who dealt the deadly blow. Sam doesn’t mention what happens next when Clint’s arrow finds its way to Sam’s stomach and he dies in Bucky’s arms. Sam doesn’t mention any of that because there’s only one part of this vision that matters. There’s only one thing that Tony needs to know.

“Tony, the body is Peter’s.”

The second the words leave Sam’s mouth, Tony’s entire face drains of blood. Sam has confided more in Tony than in almost anyone else, more about the inner workings of his visions and the things that he’s seen. Tony knows exactly how accurate Sam’s visions are, and exactly what pieces of them are important. The people, always the people. Locations can change, but people can’t.

And in this case, people _need_ to change.

“We can change it,” Tony says, an edge to his tone. “We’ve changed it before, with the Judge. He shot you in your visions, but he never did in real life. We can change it.” Tony’s words are faster than normal, harried, and Sam curses when he realizes that Tony is already slipping into panic and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. Any reassurances Sam offers will fall on deaf ears, and Sam can’t bring himself to offer them anyway. They’d all be lies.

“I don’t think we can.” Sam admits, regretting his decision to tell Tony more with every word that leaves his mouth. “All of the other visions I’ve had, the details kept changing. Minor things like the locations, major things like the words and the events, they’d shift around every time I had a vision. But this one has never changed. It’s been set in stone since the very first time I had it.”

Tony shakes his head violently, turning away from Sam and staring pointedly at the wall. “We’re going to change it.” He says, glaring daggers at the wall. “We _will_ change it, Sam. I won’t let Peter die. I can’t.” What will happen if they fail is left unsaid but not unheard, and Sam begins to wonder if this wasn’t Penumbra’s reason for targeting Peter all along. If she wants to hurt Sam, the best way to do it is by hurting his friends. And by sending Peter Parker to his grave, Penumbra effectively takes down Tony as well, and who knows how many other Avengers.

If he can't save Peter, Sam will probably lose everyone else, too.

“I want to change it.” Sam says, desperation rising in his voice. “I want to, Tony, god do I want to. But I just don’t think it’s possible. The universe has always been working against me, Tony, and this time it seems to have made up its mind.” Sam’s mind is working against his words, hoping against hope that there’s something to be done to save Peter from the fate the world has handed him. But Sam knows his efforts are more than likely futile. He can’t plan against a death he hasn’t seen.

Sam can’t save Peter when he doesn’t know what he’s saving him from.

Tony nods slowly, setting his jaw. “I don’t care.” He says, turning to Sam and crossing his arms. “I don’t care what the universe thinks.” There’s a glint in Tony’s eye of something dangerous, a glimpse of the iron heart that was forged in a cave in Afghanistan. Willpower, stronger than anything that stands in its way. For the first time, Sam sees the Tony Stark of legend. The Tony Stark who makes gods kneel at his feet with a single look. It’s that Tony who says, “We’re going to change it. Whatever it takes.”

And when those words are paired with that look in Tony’s eye, Sam almost believes it.


	36. Chapter 36

For two days after Sam tells Tony about his vision, they worry together. Sam spends almost all of his time in Tony’s lab, watching Tony make plan after plan to keep Peter safe. Tony grills Sam on his vision, recording every detail Sam can remember and trying to find a way to predict what happens before the vision begins. Sam goes along with it, detailing his vision over and over again, nodding along in all the right places when Tony offers up another half-baked plan that Sam knows won’t work.

Telling Tony was a relief, but listening to him worry has only served to further confirm in Sam’s mind that he has no hope of stopping this. Nothing Tony suggests seems capable of changing the future, a future that appears to be rapidly approaching.

With the return of Sam’s abilities comes the return of his vision, and it comes with a vengeance. In the span of two days, Sam experiences his vision seven times, starting the night after he tells Tony and culminating in a dramatic collapse in the middle of a sentence at dinner. Following his last aggressive vision, Sam retires to his room, requesting to be alone.

No one but Tony and Bucky knows what Sam has been seeing. No one but Sam knows that it’s going to happen sooner rather than later.

No one but Peter risks disturbing Sam in his room.

Sam doesn’t notice Peter’s entrance at first, too absorbed in worry over the oncoming storm. Sam is staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows of his bedroom when he hears movement behind him and spins around, yellow eyes flashing. Peter jumps a good three feet in the air and lands in a crouch, a hesitant smile stretching across his face when Sam’s eyes fade back to hazel.

“Peter, don’t sneak up on me like that,” Sam says. He’s trying to be stern but the words come out teasing, and Sam can’t help but smile when Peter straightens and pulls the sleeve of his gray jacket down over the web-shooter affixed around his left wrist.

“Sorry,” Peter says, continuing to pull on his sleeve until it covers his entire hand. It’s then that Sam realizes that Peter is nervous, although he isn’t sure exactly why.

Feeling somewhat out of his depth, Sam sits down on the edge of his bed and pats the empty space beside him. Peter walks over and sits down, still fidgeting with his sleeve. “What’s up?” Sam asks, trying to remember how he’s supposed to talk to teenagers—it’s been a while since Sam has talked to anyone under the age of eighteen other than Peter. The last teens Sam remembers speaking to are Claire and Alex, neither of whom are what Sam would consider typical teenagers.

Not that Peter is much of a typical teenager, either.

“I, uh, I wanted to thank you,” Peter says, his voice so quiet Sam has to strain to hear him.

Sam raises an eyebrow and Peter flushes red, ducking his head and avoiding Sam’s gaze. “Thank me?” Sam asks, even more confused now than he was a minute ago. “For what?”

“For being you,” Peter says, his tone suggesting that he’s regretting his decision to enter Sam’s room. “For being Darkside, for saving my friends, for stepping in when Flash was bullying me.” Peter looks up, a timid smile flickering across his face. “I realized I never thanked you for that. For any of it, really. So I wanted to do that. So, uh, yeah.”

Sam smiles and shakes his head. That’s so, inexplicably _Peter_. “You don’t have to thank me.” Sam insists. “I mean it, Peter. You never have to thank me for anything.”

Peter nods slowly. “Thanks.” He says again, blush deepening when he realizes he’s just thanked Sam again. Sam smirks, watching as Peter searches his vocabulary for something to say other than ‘thank you.’ “I also wanted to ask,” Peter continues after a minute, “have you noticed Mr. Stark acting weird recently? Like, he’s been avoiding me, I think, and he’s also been quieter than—”

Peter is cut off by the sound of the compound’s alarms blaring. Compared to Peter’s quiet voice, the alarms are deafening, and Sam’s heart sinks into his stomach when he realizes what exactly is going on. The shrieking alarms can only mean one thing: Penumbra is back. Which means that it’s only a matter of time before she comes for Sam and finds Peter Parker standing in her way.

As soon as the wailing sirens go off, Sam jumps to his feet, watching through the floor-to-ceiling windows as a dark figure darts across a lawn that is now illuminated by spotlights. The light washes the intruder out to the point where they only appear to be a shadow, and there’s no way for Sam to tell if the spry figure belongs to Natasha or to someone much more sinister. The sound of a deadbolt has Sam turning away from the window, where he finds his bedroom door sealed tightly—and no sign of the 17-year-old who was just sitting right beside him.

Sam almost panics, fearing that Peter left the room when the building went on lockdown, following some ill-fated mission to stop the monster who almost killed his friend. But before Sam has the chance to consider that perspective, a minute whimper draws Sam’s eyes up, and he finds Peter on the ceiling, curled up in one corner of the room and shaking like a leaf.

“Peter,” Sam says softly, suspending any lingering disbelief about Peter’s abilities for the time being in favor of an instinctive need to comfort the terrified teen.

Peter uncurls slightly at the sound of Sam’s voice, his eyes wide with fear as he stares down at Sam. “Is it her?” Peter asks, his voice shaking just as hard as his body. “Penumbra?”

Sam wants to lie, wants to tell the terrified kid—because as capable and powerful as Peter is, he truly is still just a kid—that everything is okay, that the lockdown is just a test or even an error. But the pure, unadulterated terror Sam sees in Peter’s eyes has too many times been mirrored in his own, and Sam remembers clearly the feeling of desperation a scared kid gets when all they want is the truth and no one is willing to offer it.

And as hard as Sam is trying to convince himself that the shadowy figure on the lawn was just Natasha out for a post-dinner run, he knows that the chances of that being true are very slim.

“I don’t know,” Sam admits, biting the inside of his cheek. “But I wouldn’t be surprised.” Peter’s already white face loses another few shades, but the small bit of thanks in his eyes is all Sam needs to see to know that he made the right decision.

“Can she get in here?” Peter asks, uncurling and shifting until he’s seated cross-legged on the ceiling, looking directly into Sam’s eyes but upside-down. Sam shrugs, eyeing the ever-present line of salt in the doorway—it came as no small relief to Sam that he could easily pass over both Tony’s high-sodium paint lines and the pure salt he added to all the doorways in his suite—before turning back to Peter.

“I don’t know how much of her is still human,” Sam explains as he rubs the back of his neck. Sam and Tony are similar in that facts tend to be more calming to them than halfhearted reassurances, and it stands to reason that Peter would feel the same. It’s that thought that spurs Sam to keep talking—that and the clear effect that just hearing Sam’s voice seems to be having in keeping Peter calm. “Tony demon-proofed the whole building, but I can still get in without any issues. I don’t even know if salt lines can stop a daeva.” Sam scowls, irritated by his lack of knowledge on the topic. Sam is supposed to be the resident expert on the supernatural, but he doesn’t know the first thing about daeva. For all the research Sam has done since he figured out what Penumbra was, he’s found barely anything. There’s so little material on the subject that if Sam hadn’t encountered daeva himself in the past, he probably wouldn’t even be convinced they actually existed.

“Will she try to kill me?” Peter asks, his voice unnaturally small. Sam looks into Peter’s eyes, bright with the sheen of unshed tears, and nods. There’s nothing Sam can say that will change that fact, nothing that he can do. Penumbra will try to kill Peter, and Sam knows in his heart that she’ll succeed.

But that’s not what he says. “She’ll try,” Sam says, heart heavy in his chest. “There’s no doubt about that. Right now, you’re the only person in the world who can stop her when she’s in her daeva form. If she kills you, there’s nothing standing between her and her endgame.” All of that is true, facts that Sam has accepted and facts he’s sure Peter is fully aware of. Sam smiles weakly, blinking and allowing his eyes to flash yellow, just for a moment. Then he takes a deep breath, focuses his gaze on Peter, and lies. “She’ll try, but she won’t succeed. There is an entire team of superheroes right outside that door who will do everything in their power to keep Penumbra away from you. And even if she gets past every single one of them, she won’t get past me.” Sam can’t decide what hurts more, lying to Peter’s face or seeing in Peter’s eyes that he doesn’t believe a word Sam’s said.

“You can’t guarantee that.” Peter is frowning, now, and Sam wonders if Peter knows he was lying or if his endless stream of optimism has finally run dry.

“I can.” Sam lies through his teeth, projecting a confidence he doesn’t even remotely feel. Something falls over just outside of the room and desperation rises in Sam’s throat as panic descends. Sam knows how this is going to end, but that doesn’t mean he won’t fight it.

Sam may have accepted his fate but that doesn’t mean he’ll just lay down and take it.

“Peter, if Penumbra comes in here and she’s in her daeva form, I need you to blanket this entire room in webs.” Sam says, an idea beginning to take shape in the back of his mind. “Can you do that?”

“Why?” Peter asks, nodding nonetheless and adjusting one of his web-shooters.

“If you hit Penumbra with a web, I’ll be able to see her,” Sam explains. “If I can see her, I can touch her.”

Peter’s eyes widen when he realizes what Sam is saying, and he shakes his head forcefully. “You can’t!” Peter protests. “If you teleport Penumbra somewhere, you’ll be taking yourself with her!”

Sam just smiles. “I know.” He says, biting the inside of his cheek. “I know, and it’s a risk I’m going to have to take.” Sam isn’t playing with fate—at this point, he’s just delaying the inevitable. But every second Penumbra is dealing with Sam is a second she isn’t using to kill Peter. And Sam is willing to take every second he can get.

“She’s nearly killed you twice.”

“I wasn’t ready for her then. I am now.”

“Ready to fight?” Peter asks, his gaze growing hard. “Or ready to die?”

Sam hesitates, wondering just how much of the truth he’s willing to reveal. Because if he’s being honest with himself, Sam would give his life to save Peter’s in an instant. If Sam dying meant that Peter got to live, then he’d do it.

Sam would throw his life away if it gave Peter the chance to have one.

“I’ve been ready to die for a very long time, Peter. Longer than you’ve been alive.” Sam says, smiling grimly. Most of the Avengers know quite a bit of Sam’s life story at this point, details of his supernatural experiences he’s revealed in stories and explanations. But Peter, for the most part, has been shielded from the horrors of Sam’s life. Sam should have known it wouldn’t last.

Innocence never lasts long where the supernatural is involved.

Sam sits back down on his bed and looks up at Peter. “Before Steve Rogers was pulled out of the Arctic, before Thor crashed down in New Mexico, before the idea of the Iron Man suit ever crossed Tony Stark’s mind, there were still heroes on Earth,” Sam explains to Peter, who watches Sam curiously. “Heroes who fought threats the world couldn’t imagine. Heroes who died to save people who would never know their names, never even know the danger they were in.” Sam swallows hard, then smiles. “I was one of them. I still am. And if I die saving you, saving anyone, really…” Sam shakes his head. “Well, I’ve been preparing for that my entire life.”

“You can’t.” Peter protests, pleading with Sam not to do what he’s said. Sam just smiles again. What Peter doesn’t know is that it became Sam’s destiny to give his life for others a long time ago, long before he met Peter, long before Darkside. Sam has been prepared to die for as long as he can remember, but he’s been destined to die even longer—ever since the night his mother died. Sam was always supposed to die for the sake of humanity.

The least Sam can do is use his death to save someone who represents the best of it.

The bedroom door shakes as if something has slammed into it, and Sam and Peter both turn to watch it strain. Aware that he’s running out of time to convince Peter to go along with his plan, Sam turns his attention back to the teen.

Sam has only got one card left in his desk, but it’s a hell of a card to play.

“You want to know something I’ve never told Tony, or Steve, or even Matt?” Sam asks, and Peter nods hesitantly, though his eyes never leave the shaking door. Sam glances at the door and frowns when he realizes that the salt line in the doorway is slowly shifting, displaced by the vibrations caused by the vigorous attack.

As soon as that line breaks, Penumbra will be able to tear the door right off its hinges. And the look on Peter’s face tells Sam that he knows it, too.

“I’ve already died. More than once, actually.” Sam says. His words have the intended effect of immediately drawing Peter’s full, undivided attention. Peter’s eyes go wide and he whips his head around to stare at Sam, who nods. “Really. Swear on my mother’s grave.” Peter frowns at that remark but doesn’t comment, doesn’t protest. Sam braces himself for the questions, assuming that Peter is full of them, and that none of them are going to be pretty, and that Sam probably won’t have nearly enough time to answer them all.

Sam is unexpectedly reminded of the very first time he met Peter, less than three months ago in the communal lounge of Avengers Tower. Peter saw Sam’s prosthetic leg and bombarded him with questions, and the look in his eye then is the same look he’s wearing now. A lot of things have changed since then, but a lot has stayed the same.

And just like that first day they met, Peter asks the one question that Sam wasn’t expecting.

“Does it hurt?”

Sam finds a smile on his face, and for once he knows exactly what to say. “Only a little,” Sam says. “Just a little bit, and then it’s over. A little bit of pain, and it’s over, and you don’t have to go through it alone.” Sam gestures to the empty space beside him on the bed. “Dying isn’t as scary to think about as dying alone, but in truth, you never die alone. There’s always someone standing right beside you, waiting for you, ready to take your hand and walk with you to Heaven.” Peter smiles timidly at that, and Sam knows he’s finally gotten through.

As if on cue, the door finally breaks down, destroying the salt that serves as the last line of defense. Peter turns around and Sam jumps to his feet, and they both watch in disbelief as the last person either of them expected to see walks into the room.

“MJ?” Peter asks, his voice jumping a few octaves as he stares at the girl with wide eyes. “ _You’re_ Penumbra?” Michelle throws her head back and laughs deeply, shaking her head.

It’s that unnatural laugh that tells Sam exactly what’s going on.

“You did such a good job keeping Penumbra out that you slacked on defending against me,” Michelle says, turning her gaze on Sam as her eyes go black. A smirk plays across Michelle’s lips as she turns back to Peter, black eyes narrowing. “No, I’m not Penumbra, but she’s waiting for us.”

“Get out of her!” Peter says angrily, fidgeting furiously with the sleeve of his jacket. He doesn’t seem to be aware that he’s still standing upside down on the ceiling, white tennis shoes clinging to the plaster. “Leave her alone!”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” The demon sneers, glancing again at Sam. “If you’ll excuse us, we have somewhere to be, and Penumbra doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” Sam’s eyes turn yellow and he throws up one hand, but it’s too late. Within the blink of an eye, the demon is gone.

And so is Peter.


	37. Chapter 37

The alarms stop so suddenly that Sam’s ears ring, obscuring the voices shouting from the doorway. Sam doesn’t realize he’s not alone until three Avengers run into the room, stopping in their tracks when they see Sam staring at nothing.

“Sam, where’s Peter?” Steve asks, an abundance of caution in his tone, like he’s afraid that a simple question will cause Sam to shatter like glass.

Sam blinks and the yellow fades from his vision as he turns, not to Steve but to Tony and Bucky, who both look like they already know exactly what’s happened. “It wasn’t Penumbra,” Sam says, distantly noting the lack of emotion in his words. “It wasn’t Penumbra, it was a demon. A demon who’d possessed Peter’s friend Michelle.”

Tony’s eyes widen at this, and Steve and Bucky exchange a look. They’re probably all wondering how long Michelle was possessed before she attacked. Sam is wondering why he never thought to secure her. After Penumbra attacked Peter and his friends, Tony and Sam brought Peter and his aunt to the tower to keep them safe, and they outfitted Ned’s house with demon-proofing. But neither of them thought to defend Michelle. Neither of them thought she’d be a target.

“It caught us both off guard,” Sam explains, hating the way his voice wavers. “She grabbed Peter and teleported out. I couldn’t stop her. She… she took him right to Penumbra.” Sam shakes his head and glares at his hands. “I promised him she wouldn’t get to him. I promised him I wouldn’t let her. And then I just stood there and watched him disappear.” Sam knows his anger is irrational, knows that no matter how hard he tried, this was going to happen. He knows that by the time they find Peter, it will probably be too late.

Sam knows that the reason he never saw Peter’s death in his vision is that he’ll probably be too late to see it in real time.

“There’s nothing you could have done, kid,” Bucky says.

Sam shakes his head vehemently. “There’s _always_ another way.” He repeats the words he said once over six months ago, just before he changed the future and stopped the Judge from ending his life. They’re words that Sam has stopped believing when it comes to this vision, but he says them because he knows he’s expected to, knows that Steve and Tony and Bucky are expecting Sam to want to fight.

Sam knows how this is going to end, but he wishes it wasn’t this way.

Sam looks up at the ceiling where Peter was standing, noticing scuff marks where his shoes dug into the ceiling. Shaking his head, Sam lowers his gaze, surprised to find Peter’s jacket lying crumpled on the ground directly beneath the marks. Sam could have sworn that Peter was wearing the jacket when the demon grabbed him, or at least he was right before.

A smile finds its way to Sam’s face as he walks over to the jacket, picking it up. Sure enough, hidden beneath the jacket is one of Peter’s web-shooters. What Sam thought was Peter nervously fidgeting with his jacket was actually Peter taking off his web-shooter. He dropped it on purpose.

Which means he must have had a reason to leave it behind.

“Tony, can Peter’s web-shooters be remotely controlled?” Sam asks.

Tony frowns, watching as Sam picks up the web-shooter. “I think Peter’s been working on that. Why?”

“That means they’re connected, right?” Sam infers, holding the web-shooter out to Tony. “So that if need be, Peter can use one to control the other. Which means that—”

“—We can use this web-shooter to find the other one.” Tony finishes Sam’s thought and grabs the web-shooter, a wide grin stretching across his face. “JARVIS, figure out where the other web-shooter is.”

“Right away, Sir.”

Tony pulls out his StarkPhone and opens a holographic map of New York State. Two blinking dots appear, each representing one of Peter’s web-shooters. One is hovering directly over the compound. The other is about fifty miles to the east. When Tony zooms in as close as he can, Sam sees that the web-shooter is right in the middle of a ring of buildings.

“Let’s go,” Steve says, turning and exiting the room. Sam desperately wishes that he could just teleport straight to Peter’s location, but he’s never been to that particular section of New York, or even within twenty miles of it. Penumbra probably picked that location on purpose, to keep Sam from finding her too quickly.

The three Avengers run out the door and Sam follows close behind, hoping against hope that they won’t be too late and knowing perfectly well that they already are.

* * *

As soon as the Quinjet touches down, Sam is out the door and running as fast as he can. Tony is hot on Sam’s heels, and so are Natasha and Steve. Sam figures that all three of them could outrun him, but they must know that Sam is heading right for the only two white bodies in the area, just on the other side of the nearest warehouse. So Sam runs and the Avengers follow, the building obscuring every view but one. It’s a small comfort to Sam that he’s the only one who can see what’s happening.

Penumbra looks wrong, her form filled with white instead of black, light instead of darkness. Her soul is glowing brightly, Sam’s anger and fear and horror making his demon sight beyond powerful. Sam’s senses are just as strong, and he can hear Penumbra’s laughter and the pleas that bubble from Peter’s lips as a white tentacle wraps around his throat.

The door is feet away and Sam puts on one last burst of energy, watching as Penumbra raises one hand that turns into a fist that sharpens into a point.

Sam can’t even shout a warning before it’s too late.

“No!” He screams anyway, tearing through the door like it’s made of tissue paper, but the words fall away useless as Penumbra’s hand comes down, tearing into Peter’s chest and then straight through it. Peter hangs suspended for a moment, impaled on Penumbra’s arm, frozen in time, and the yellow in Sam’s vision turns red. Sam keeps running, Tony on his heels, and they both throw up their hands at the same time. Tony hits Penumbra in the chest with a blast from his palm. Sam sends her flying fifty feet into the wall of an adjacent warehouse so hard that she goes right through it. And Peter crumples to the floor without a sound.

The silence is terrifying, and Sam finds himself wishing that Peter would scream.

Tony and Sam both run to Peter, while Natasha and Steve head for Penumbra. Peter isn’t silent, Sam realizes as he approaches and begins to hear the breathy whimpers that escape Peter’s mouth every time his chest heaves. He’s fighting, with every breath he’s fighting, but with every breath, his blue t-shirt and jeans and the ground around him are painted a little redder. Sam stops in his tracks fifteen feet away from Peter, bile rising in his throat as he views the exact scene from the vision that’s haunted him for months coming to life.

Except that this time, Sam can hear everything that’s happening.

“Peter. Kid.” Tony’s voice cracks on both words as he drops to his knees at Peter’s side, obscuring Peter’s face from Sam’s view. Sam blinks and allows his yellow vision to fade away, unwilling to watch Peter’s soul lose its glow as he loses his fight.

“Tony… I’m sorry…” Peter’s words dissolve into a whimper and Sam closes his eyes and angles his head toward the sky.

“Castiel, I know you don’t care about me,” Sam says, his voice shaking. He hasn’t prayed to the angel he once considered a close friend in over a year—not since he found out that Cas was dead, not since he discovered Castiel was alive and just not listening. Castiel didn’t reply when Sam’s life was in danger. But maybe he’ll reply when it’s someone else’s life on the line. Someone worthy of Heaven’s attention. “I know I’m not worth your time. But Peter is just a kid. He’s a better person than I’ll ever be. Please, save him.”

“Peter, stay with me. Come on, kid, you can do this.” Tony’s voice rises as panic and fear take over, and Sam opens his eyes to find Tony hunched over Peter, his shoulders shaking with the force of the sobs he’s barely holding back.

Sam looks around, eyes flashing bright yellow when a tan trench coat fails to appear. “Damn you, you son of a bitch!” Sam screams up at the sky, his demon sight reactivated by the force of his anger alone. “Damn you for letting him die!” Sam’s scream is interrupted by Tony’s, Tony’s single word that’s full of so much pain that Sam can feel it, can feel the sorrow radiating off of Tony in waves.

“Peter!” Tony cries, and Sam looks down.

Sam watches as the light fades from Peter Parker’s eyes, watches as Tony, who already lost his family once, loses it all over again. And for the first time since they met almost a year ago, Sam watches Tony Stark cry.

The emotion that overwhelms Sam now is a new one, one he hasn’t experienced this fully since before he got his powers. Sam has been angry. He’s been guilty. He’s been happy and proud and anxious and scared. But now Sam stands fifteen feet away from Tony and sorrow washes over him, fills every part of him and crushes his lungs and his heart and his soul to dust.

And Sam’s vision glows so brightly that Tony’s soul blinds him. And when Sam forces his vision back to normal, he can still that glow. But he can also see the silver tears in a broken man’s eyes.

Tony’s nearly-silent whisper, no more than a breath, is a scream to Sam, ringing in his ears, in his heart, in his soul.

_“It was supposed to be me.”_

Across the empty lot, Steve and Natasha step back through the hole in the wall through which Penumbra disappeared. Sam makes eye contact with Steve just long enough for Steve to shake his head—Penumbra is gone. Steve and Natasha join Clint, Wilson, and Bucky, who are standing frozen, shell-shocked, fifteen feet away from Tony in the opposite direction of Sam. The five Avengers and Sam watch Tony mourn the only one of them who has never done a single thing in his life to deserve a death like the one he was just given, so painful and so young. As Tony’s whispers dissolve into sobs, the Avengers turn away one by one, first Wilson and then Clint.

As the archer turns his back, the glint of the sun off of the quiver Clint is wearing catches Sam’s eye, and every horrible vision Sam has suffered through over the past few months plays through his mind, one after the other. Arrow after arrow plunges into Sam’s stomach, his hands wrapped around the shaft, slick with blood. Hands that are strong. Hands that are unyielding. Hands that aren’t shaking in the slightest.

Sam has died a hundred times, both in real life and in his visions. But this, this is the only time that he didn’t hesitate.

Looking back now, on those months of visions, Sam finally understands. It was never Clint who dealt the fatal blow.

Sam lifts one hand, and an arrow flies out of Clint’s quiver, landing neatly in Sam’s open palm. Clint is the first to turn his gaze to Sam, but Natasha and Bucky are quick to follow. They all look confused, but as Sam spins the arrow around so that the head is pointed at his torso, Bucky’s eyes widen in realization and he breaks into a run.

That, along with Natasha’s scream, draws the attention of the rest of the Avengers, so that every last one of them witnesses Sam plunging the arrow into his own stomach.

Sam has lost too many friends, too much family. He won’t let anyone else die. Not today.

Sam is going to save Peter Parker.

Whatever it takes.


	38. Chapter 38

Because Bucky was already running, he's able to catch Sam when he falls. Able to sink to the ground with him and press his hands to Sam's stomach, trying in vain to stop the bleeding. Sam knows that there’s no hope—he’s far too good at his job to miss.

“Let me die,” Sam says, his voice void of the fear that filled Peter’s moments ago. “Please.”

Bucky scowls, pressing his hands harder into Sam’s stomach and eliciting a gasp from Sam at the sudden pain that shoots through his body. “Damn it, kid, I’m not letting you kill yourself.”

Natasha and Steve are the next to get to Sam, wearing identical expressions of disbelief. In any other situation, Sam would have smiled—he finally managed to surprise the Black Widow.

“Sam,” Natasha asks, her voice perfectly even, “what the hell are you doing?”

Steve’s tone is much more emotional when he adds, “We just lost Peter. We can’t lose you, too.”

Sam smiles, lifting one shaky hand and gesturing to himself. “I’m from a world where death isn’t permanent,” Sam explains. Wilson and Clint arrive at about that time, the latter wearing an expression of horror when he sees the arrow still buried in Sam’s stomach. Sam will have to apologize for that, later. He figures Clint is going to be feeling pretty guilty about his arrow being used as Sam’s suicide weapon of choice. “I’ve been to Heaven several times.” Sam continues, pausing to cough and wincing when the action jars the arrowhead. “I’ve broken in, broken out, died, been resurrected.” Sam shifts his gaze to Bucky, who is still pressing down on Sam’s stomach, his features lined with determination. “I’m not killing myself, Bucky, because that requires staying dead.”

Most of the Avengers still look confused, but Sam sees a hint of recognition in Natasha’s eyes as Steve asks, “What are you talking about?”

“I have a friend who died several years ago,” Sam explains, “who beat the system.” This time, Sam gestures up at the sky. “He knows how to travel between Heavens, how to find people trapped up there and bring them back down to Earth. I have a friend on Earth who can put a soul into a body, can bring someone back to life if they’re willing.” Sam meets Steve’s eyes and hopes that his deadly injury doesn’t remove too much of the steel from his gaze. “I’m going to bring Peter back. But I need you to make sure his body will take him.”

“How?” Natasha asks, returning Sam’s stare. The rest of the Avengers still look confused, but Sam is sure that Natasha will explain it to them once he’s gone.

Considering how quickly Sam’s blood is flowing between Bucky’s fingers, he figures he doesn’t have much time left. And Sam is going to need every second to put his half-baked plan into play.

“Call Castiel,” Sam says. “Pray to him, all of you. Get as many people as you can to scream at the sky, and tell Castiel that Sam Winchester is dead and Sam Winchester is angry. Tell him I’m bringing a kid back to life who never deserved to die, and if Castiel doesn’t come down here and help me save Peter Parker, I’m going to dedicate my afterlife to tracking him across Heaven and killing him myself.” Sam smirks, licking his lips and tasting the blood that stains them. “Tell him he’s already on my bad side, and that’s not where he wants to be, not now. Tell him to save Peter Parker to save himself.” Sam laughs, looking straight up at the bright blue sky. “Castiel, you abandoned me. Because I don’t have Dean, you don’t think I’m worthy of you anymore. Well, you’re right, I’m not. But Peter Parker is seventeen years old, and he’s a hero. He’s better than both of us. And if you don’t save him, you’ll meet the business end of an angel blade before you can finish cursing my name.” Sam’s laughter dissolves into a coughing fit and his mouth fills with blood. When Sam tries to keep talking, blood spills onto his chin and onto his shirt. Bucky’s metal hand slips away from Sam’s stomach, slick with blood and unable to maintain a grip.

Sam grabs Bucky’s other hand, pulling it free and holding it tightly. Bucky looks down at Sam and shakes his head, a grim expression on his face. “Kid, you don’t have to do this.”

Sam smiles, spitting out a mouthful of blood. “Of course I do.” He says. “This is what I’ve been doing my entire life.”

One of the first things Sam discovered about his demon sight is that he can’t see his own yellow eyes. But what Sam has never told anyone, Matt or Peter or the Avengers, is that he can’t see his own soul, either. So instead of watching his own life fade, Sam watches the lives of those around him. He watches as Bucky’s soul flickers, darkens, goes out. He watches as Steve’s steady heart dies, and Natasha’s bright eyes fade away. He watches as his friends die away, as his family dies away. As _he_ dies away.

And then he closes his eyes.

When Sam opens his eyes again, he’s standing alone a short distance away from the crowd of Avengers. Beside him, Tony is still kneeling over Peter’s body, but he’s no longer looking at the teen—instead, his head is turned toward the rest of the Avengers. Sam wonders if the tears in Tony’s eyes are for Peter or for him.

Sam’s body slumps in Bucky’s arms, and the Avengers lose their second friend in twenty minutes. Sam doesn’t need to look—he holds out his hand, and a small, smooth hand slides over his palm, fingers curling around his hand.

“I expected a much more civilized death from you, Winchester,” Billie says. When Sam turns to her, she’s shaking her head. “Never struck me as the suicide type.”

“I was always going to die saving someone else,” Sam replies. “Might as well do it myself.” He hesitates, watching as Tony climbs up on unsteady feet and walks over to the rest of the Avengers. When Natasha tells him what happened, Tony very nearly collapses again—only Steve’s hands keep Tony from hitting the ground. Sam swallows hard, turning back to Billie and saying, “I’m going to find a soul and take it here. I expect you to be waiting when I get back, and I expect you to put Peter Parker’s soul back where it belongs.”

“And what’s in it for me?”

Sam smiles. He told Peter that it was his destiny to give his life for humanity’s sake. Today, Peter is the only part of humanity that matters.

Sam knows the Avengers will never forgive him for the lies he told them, lying in Bucky’s arms. Sam knows that they’d never have let him die if they knew that he wasn’t planning on coming back.

“I never said you had to put _my_ soul back.”

Billie’s eyes widen, and a smirk appears on her face. “You have a deal, Winchester.” Billie shakes the hand in Sam’s grasp sharply, forcing him into a handshake, sealing the deal. The smile fades and Billie’s expression turns serious. Now that the deal has been made, she’s all business. “Let me guess. Roadhouse?”

Before Sam can even nod an affirmative, he and Billie are standing outside of a familiar building. Billie releases Sam’s hand and vanishes, and Sam takes a moment to look around. He remembers the last time he came here in life, the horror that filled every square inch of his body when he saw the smoldering remains of the building he’d come to think of as a second home. Sam remembers wondering if Ellen and Jo Harvelle were trapped inside, reduced to ash along with any hunters unfortunate enough to be visiting.

Sam remembers the warring sorrow and relief when he found what little remained of the sole friend claimed by the fire. “Hey, Ash!” Sam shouts as he approaches the Roadhouse, stepping inside and leaning against the door frame. “I need a favor!”

“Again, Sam? Really?” A muffled voice asks, a touch of annoyance in his tone. A moment later, Ash walks out of the back, and despite the circumstances, Sam can’t help but grin.

“Like I said, I need a favor,” Sam repeats.

“Just once, can we meet when you aren’t dead?”

Sam laughs, crossing his arms. “Dude, you’re dead, too. Unless you’re planning on trying out reincarnation, we’re only going to meet when I bite the dust.” Ash nods, a lazy grin on his face. He steps behind the bar and grabs a couple of beers, popping the cap off of one on the edge of the bar and holding it out to Sam.

“Speaking of which, how’d it happen this time?” Sam walks over to the bar and takes the beer, glancing at the label—it’s a brand that didn’t exist until after Ash died, causing Sam to briefly wonder how Ash knew about it—and taking a swig.

“Arrow to the stomach.”

Ash whistles sympathetically, opening the second beer and taking a long drink. “Sucks.”

Sam smirks, dropping the bombshell. “Self-inflicted.” Ash groans comically and sets down his beer just so he can dramatically throw up his hands.

“I knew you weren’t visiting just to say your goodbyes,” Ash complains. “You’re here to save someone, then. Who is it this time? Bobby? Your dad? JFK?”

Sam pauses as if considering. “Tempting, but no.” He says, taking another drink. “Seventeen-year-old kid. Name’s Peter Parker.” Ash raises an eyebrow, and Sam shakes his head. “Not my kid, Ash, but it is my fault he’s up here.”

“Sam, we have _got_ to stop meeting like this.” Ash sighs and picks up his beer, draining the bottle and dropping it into the sink. “Lemme see what I can do.”

Ash turns and heads to the back of the Roadhouse. Sam takes another sip and sets his beer down before following. As he walks, Sam looks around at the scenery. Although it’s been a decade since Sam last stepped foot in this building, it’s still just as familiar to Sam as the bunker. Still homely.

Another home, Sam thinks, that a Prince of Hell destroyed to get to him.

Ash ducks into a room and Sam follows, taking a moment to admire Ash’s setup of expensive computers. They’ve been updated, Sam notices, recognizing several monitors that definitely didn’t exist back in 2007. It seems that Ash is never behind on the latest tech, even in death.

Sam can’t help but wonder if, when hefinally reaches his own Heaven, he’ll be happy the way that Ash is.

“Here we go.” Sam looks up, focusing his attention on the screen Ash is pointing to. It shows a video feed of a bedroom, one that clearly belongs to a teenage boy. As Sam watches, Peter enters the room through the window, dressed in his Spider-Man suit. As soon as Peter takes off his mask, the door opens and May walks in, followed by a man Sam doesn’t recognize. The man pulls Peter into a hug, and Peter starts to animatedly tell the two adults something. Based on Peter’s gestures, Sam figures it’s a description of the patrol from which he’s just returned. “Peter Parker, age 17, died today,” Ash says, frowning. “His Heaven isn’t very close to here, which is unfortunate. My nearest shortcut will only take you halfway, and from there it’s a long walk down a heavily-patrolled hallway.”

Sam matches Ash’s frown, looking through some of the other monitors. None are showing people Sam recognizes, and Sam wonders why Ash is monitoring them.

“You know, sometimes Heavens can have pathways into each other,” Ash says, typing something else on his computer. Every screen but Peter’s goes black. When Ash stops typing and leans back in his chair a minute later, only one screen has lit back up. Sam is surprised to see the same bedroom in this one, but this time it’s only Peter and the man from Peter’s Heaven. They’re sitting side-by-side on Peter’s bed, talking seriously about something.

“This Heaven connects to Peter’s?” Sam asks.

Ash types something else, then nods. “Just the one.” He says, gesturing to the screen. “The Heaven belonging to one Benjamin Parker has a good-sized doorway into Peter’s Heaven.” Ash scans his central monitor, which is covered in information in a script Sam doesn’t recognize but figures is probably Enochian. “Looks like Benny is Peter’s uncle.” Ash says, glancing at Sam. “Makes sense. Close family bonds sometimes create cracks that can lead to pathways.”

“Okay, so how do I get to Benjamin’s Heaven?” Sam asks, looking back and forth between the two Heavens on Ash’s monitors. Almost identical scenes are playing out on both, as Peter sits on his bed and speaks to his uncle—an uncle whose death, Sam recalls, led to Peter becoming Spider-Man.

“Now that’s where you’re in luck,” Ash says with a grin. “Other than Peter, there are no paths leading to Benny’s Heaven, but he does happen to be located pretty close to an old friend of yours.” Ash brings up another Heaven feed and Sam leans forward, eyes widening when he recognizes the location instantly.

On the screen, Bobby Singer sits in his favorite chair in his house in Sioux Falls, drinking a beer and staring pointedly at the wall.

“Bobby’s the closest to Benjamin? Seriously?” Sam asks in disbelief.

“Heaven organizes by name,” Ash explains. “Robert Singer has been organized under ‘Bobby’ since that big fiasco with the Roberts a few years back. Benjamin is pretty close. Much closer than Peter.”

“And you have a door to Bobby’s Heaven?”

“Yup,” Ash says, and Sam has to admit that he isn’t entirely surprised. “Took some effort on both our parts, but it was worth it. Bobby’s not really the type to retire.” Sam nods, grinning. That sounds like the Bobby he remembers.

“Let’s go, then,” Sam says, determined to get Peter back as soon as possible. He isn’t entirely sure how time works in Heaven, but he wants Peter back in his body before the Avengers have time to grieve for him.

Sam wonders if they listened and called Castiel. He wonders if Castiel listened.

Ash stands and leaves the room, walking through the bar. He stops outside the bathrooms and gestures to the door to the men’s room, saying, “Right through here.” Sam raises an eyebrow and Ash shrugs. “I needed some kind of portal. Bathroom door works.”

“So does a window,” Sam replies, hand already on the doorknob. He opens the door halfway, then pauses, turning back to Ash. “Thanks. For everything.”

Ash smiles, dismissing Sam’s gratitude with a wave of his hand. “Don’t worry about it. You and Dean showing up around here every time you die makes my afterlife a hell of a lot more interesting.” With that, Ash walks away, and Sam pushes the door the rest of the way open. The room still looks like a bathroom, but Sam knows better than to think that it really is.

With one last glance back at the Roadhouse, Sam steps through the door.


	39. Chapter 39

The room Sam finds himself standing in isn’t a bathroom but a kitchen, one that is just as familiar as the Roadhouse. Sam grabs a beer from the fridge and heads into the living room, where he finds Bobby sitting in the exact same position he was on Ash’s feed.

“Took you long enough,” Bobby says without looking up, raising his bottle in acknowledgment and welcome. Sam taps the neck of his bottle against Bobby’s as he passes, sitting down on the couch. Sam takes a moment to relax back into the couch, drinking in the familiar feeling. Before he knew the truth about the supernatural, Bobby’s house was the only place Sam thought of as home. After, it was the only place he thought of as safe.

“Had to talk to Ash,” Sam says, choosing not to question Bobby’s knowledge of Sam’s recent demise. “Trying to rescue a kid who didn’t deserve to die.”

“None of ‘em ever do.” Bobby shakes his head and takes a swing of his beer. Then he turns, meeting Sam’s eyes. “What makes this one different?”

“It’s my fault he’s dead.” Sam looks down at the bottle in his hands, deliberately avoiding Bobby’s gaze. “Peter got himself stuck in the middle of a spat between me and a daeva, and he got killed for it. I’m trying to bring him back.”

“I understand,” Bobby says. “Just wish you weren’t killing yourself to do it.”

“He’s worth it.”

Bobby laughs, taking another drink. “Sam, you’d sacrifice yourself every day of the week to save a stranger, much less a friend. They’re all worth it.”

“They’re all worth dying for.” Sam agrees, standing and draining his bottle. “Peter is worth staying dead for.”

Bobby is silent for a long moment, just looking at Sam. His eyes are strong and familiar, analytical and just a touch softer than Sam remembers. Bobby nods slowly, a hint of a smile on his face as he scratches his beard and says, “Guess you’d better go find him, then.”

It’s the closest thing to permission Bobby will ever offer—and Sam didn’t come here looking for permission, but he’s glad to have it anyway.

“It’s good to see you again, Bobby,” Sam says, setting his empty bottle down on the kitchen counter.

“Don’t be a stranger,” Bobby replies, shaking his head and pointing to the back door, answering the question Sam hasn’t asked. “But don’t come here too soon neither.”

Sam grins, watching as Bobby turns back around, resuming the position he was in when Sam first arrived. Sitting in his chair, drinking his beer, staring at nothing.

Sam opens the back door and steps into the crisp white hallway of Heaven, shutting the door softly behind him and keeping an eye out for the patrols Ash mentioned.

What Sam finds when he turns away from Bobby’s door isn’t the bright hallway crawling with angel patrols that he expected. Instead, the lights are dim and flickering, making the hall a strange yellow color that reminds Sam of his demon sight. And what’s much more worrying is the patrols—or lack thereof.

There isn’t a single angel in sight.

If he had time, Sam would worry about the implications of that. Heaven is supposed to be crawling with angels, God’s warriors playing security guard for the endless halls filled with the Heavens of every soul in this half of the afterlife. Seeing no angels now—especially on the hall occupied by Bobby Singer—fills Sam with a feeling somewhere between worry and terror. If he had time, Sam would give in and wonder just what happened up here since the last time he visited.

But he doesn’t have time, so Sam pushes his worries aside and turns down the hallway in the direction of the beginning of the alphabet. Once he passes through the Bobbys and the Bobs and the B-O-A names, Sam finds himself at the end of the hallway. Stretching as far as he can see in either direction is one long, connecting hallway, and from that hallway hundreds of others branch off. Each hall is labeled like the aisles of a supermarket, and Sam heads in the direction of the As, hoping that B-E-N isn’t too far of a walk.

Seven halls later, Sam turns down at B-E-L. He passes about fifty Bens and a good hundred Benjamins before Sam finds one Benjamin Parker, with a birth date that makes him around May’s age and a death date right around the time Spider-Man first started popping up in Queens. Sam doesn’t know much about the circumstances of Ben Parker’s death—only that he was murdered and that his death was what inspired Peter to become Spider-Man. What Sam does know is that Ben Parker’s Heaven holds the key to reaching Peter and that to get to it, Sam is going to walk through this door and talk to the man who meant more to Peter than anyone else in the world.

Sam just spoke to his uncle. Now it’s time for Peter’s.

Somehow, that feels so much harder to do.

Sam opens the door and steps into the Heaven before he can change his mind, before he can convince himself that it would be easier to just run down the never-ending hallway until he reaches the P-E-Ts. Heaven is timeless but time is of the essence, and Sam doesn’t have any time left to waste.

Plus, Sam is already dead. It’s not like an awkward conversation with Peter’s uncle will kill him.

The room Sam walks into is an apartment, with a kitchen to his left and a living area in front of him. There’s a door at the back of the room behind which voices are talking quietly—Sam takes that to be Peter’s bedroom. Before Sam can head in that direction, the door opens and the man Sam saw on Ash’s camera steps out, closing the door quietly behind him. The man makes it about halfway through the living area before he sees Sam, and when he does, he pauses, frowning.

“Who are you?” The man asks, and Sam smiles hesitantly.

“Sam Winchester.” Sam says. “I’m looking for your nephew.”

Benjamin Parker gestures to the couch and Sam follows him over, sitting down on the worn couch while Ben takes a seat in the chair beside it. Ben leans forward and presses his elbows into his knees, balancing his chin on his fists and looking Sam over with a practiced eye. “I’ve never had a visitor before.” Ben says after a minute, relaxing back into his seat. “Been dead for a few years now and all I ever see is Peter.”

“Not May?” Sam can’t help but ask, curious as to why Peter’s Heaven has both of his caretakers but Ben’s doesn’t have his wife.

Ben smiles, opening his arms and gesturing to the apartment at large. “She’ll be here, one day.” He says. “I’m keeping the place tidy until she arrives.” Ben’s smile falters and he leans forward again. “You say you’re looking for Peter. Am I right to assume…” Ben trails off, eyes filling with pain and sparkling with tears. Sam knows that Ben has already figured out the implications of Sam’s presence, but he nods anyway. “What happened?”

Sam debates internally how to give the news that Peter died because of him delicately. In the end, he decides to say, “He died for me.” Ben doesn’t look surprised by that, and Sam briefly wonders if Ben, like Ash, has a way of keeping tabs on the goings-on of the living. Then, Sam realizes that Ben just knows his nephew better than anyone else—except maybe May. “After you died, Peter became a superhero.” Sam says because Ben deserves to know exactly what kind of person Peter is. “He’s saved hundreds, maybe thousands of lives in the past few years.” Sam pauses, grinning. “Oh, and he’s basically an Avenger.” Ben looks pleasantly surprised by that, pride and joy shining in his eyes.

“How’d my boy go about that?” Ben questions.

“Tony Stark scouted him.” Sam explains, leaning forward. He doesn’t know the whole story—Sam doesn’t imagine anyone other than Tony does, even Peter himself—but he can fill in the blanks pretty easily. “Saw the potential in the teenage hero running around Queens, and when he needed an extra set of hands Tony showed up here and recruited Peter. Took him under his wing, so to speak, and helped him become the hero he is today.” Sam swallows hard, his smile faltering. “I’m a superhero, too, but I’ll never be as good as Peter.” He admits, biting the inside of his cheek. “It was my job to keep Peter safe, and I failed at that. I watched him die and I couldn’t stop it.”

Ben shakes his head, smiling gently. “You’re here now, aren’t you? I can’t imagine you’re looking for him to say your goodbyes.” Sam shakes his head, hesitantly returning Ben’s smile.

“I’m here to bring him back.”

“Good.” Ben nods sharply and climbs to his feet. “Once you two are back where you belong, keep him safe, will you? Sometimes Peter can get so distracted following his heart that he forgets to look at where it’s taking him.” Sam nods slowly, unwilling to tell Ben that he isn’t planning on going back with Peter.

The gleam in Ben’s eye as he leads Sam to Peter’s bedroom suggests that he already knows.

“This is the door you’re looking for.” Ben says, gesturing to Peter’s bedroom door. Sam reaches out to grab the doorknob, but he’s stopped by a hand on his arm. “Promise me something, Sam.” Ben curls his fingers around Sam’s arm, waiting until Sam looks up at him to continue, “Don’t let Peter follow his heart too far. Don’t let him get lost in his heart, or in his head, either.” Ben pauses, a fond smile on his face. “And tell May that I’m keeping the apartment clean until she’s ready to join me, but I expect her to be old and wrinkly when she does.” Sam can’t help the smile that comes to his face at that, at the clear love Ben feels for his nephew and his wife.

There’s no doubt in his mind that when May Parker passes peacefully away in her sleep in sixty years’ time, Ben will be waiting with open arms for her arrival.

Sam grabs the doorknob and turns it, pushing the door open. The bedroom inside is empty, but Sam knows that as soon as he steps through the doorway, he’ll be greeted by the person all of this is for.

Sam isn’t sure he’s ready to face the kid he got killed.

Ben’s hand disappears from Sam’s arm, and Sam looks up at him one last time. “You’re powerful, Sam.” Ben says, a knowing grin on his face. “I told Peter once, not long before I died, that with any great power comes great responsibility. Exactly what that responsibility entails is up for interpretation. Peter—and yourself, I imagine—saw that responsibility as toward your peers. You were given these powers, so you must use them to protect those who cannot protect themselves.” Ben’s smile widens and he takes a step back, gesturing for Sam to enter Peter’s bedroom. “You were probably right. But I personally believe that the greatest responsibility you have is toward yourself.” Ben turns away, disappearing down the hallway.

Sam shakes his head and steps through the door.

“Sam?”

The second he hears the voice, Sam stiffens, turning around. Peter is standing next to the window, one leg planted on the wall and the other dangling outside. Peter’s mask is off and clutched in one hand, and his forehead is furrowed in confusion.

“What are you doing here?” Peter asks, climbing the rest of the way into the room and dropping his mask on his bed. “I didn’t think you knew where I lived.” Sam frowns, looking over his shoulder and discovering that the bedroom door has closed behind him, sealing the path back to Ben’s Heaven.

“I don’t.” Sam says, realizing as Peter moves around his room, taking off his suit and hanging it up in his closet, that Peter has no idea he isn’t in his real bedroom in Queens.

Sam planned for a few contingencies—being caught by angels, having to convince Billie to bring Peter back to life—but he didn’t plan for this.

Peter doesn’t know that he’s dead.

“Peter, are you back yet?” May’s voice calls from behind the closed bedroom door, and Peter grins, weaving around Sam and opening the door a crack.

“I’m here, May! Be out in a minute!” Peter calls before quickly shutting the door again. He moves back around Sam, running one hand through his messy hair and reaching for the StarkPhone lying on his bed with the other. Peter’s constant motion is dizzying, a stark contrast to the perfectly still body Sam left behind at the warehouse, and Sam swallows hard around the lump in his throat.

The last thing he wants to do is ruin this perfect life, this perfect Heaven, but Sam needs to bring Peter back and he has to tell Peter the truth to do it.

“Peter, this isn’t your apartment.” Sam says, trying to ease Peter into the discovery himself. Peter knows, somewhere deep inside, that he’s in a Heaven-made version of his bedroom, that the May outside the door isn’t real. If Sam can make Peter realize that, it will hurt a lot less than if Sam just outright says it. “That’s not May. None of this is real.”

Peter looks more than a little bit confused, dropping his phone back onto his bed. He walks back over to the window and looks out as if expecting the city to suddenly change, for reality to fall apart around him. When it doesn’t happen, Peter turns back to Sam, then pushes past him and pulls his door forcefully open.

“May?” Peter calls, staring into the empty living room of his apartment. “May!” Sam notices that Peter doesn’t cross the threshold into the living room, the threshold into the rest of Heaven. Peter can’t leave, but he doesn’t seem to notice that his choice to stand in the doorway yelling for May rather than just looking for her wasn’t his decision at all.

Sam sees the exact moment Peter realizes where he is, what's happened to him. He stops shouting, stops moving, just falls incredibly still. Then his eyes drop to his chest, to the wound that isn't there but that Sam knows from experience Peter can _feel_. It must feel like he’s being stabbed all over again, his body torn apart by a monstrous shadow who didn’t care about the life she was ending. Sam watches silently as Peter relives his death, a violent shudder tearing through his body with the same ease as Penumbra’s deadly blow.

As Peter remembers his death, Sam remembers alongside him, feeling the arrow puncturing his stomach just as vividly as if it happened all over again. But there’s only a ghost to remind them of the pain, and when Sam’s hand goes to his stomach he finds no mark.

When Peter’s fingers run across his chest, there’s no gaping wound for him to touch. But Sam knows that Peter can feel the pain anyway.

"I'm... dead?" Peter asks in a broken voice, far too accepting for someone his age, and it breaks Sam's heart to ruin what would have been a perfect forever for the young hero but he knows that he has to fix this, has to bring Peter back, because this wasn't his time, damn what fate has to say.

"I'm sorry, Peter." Sam says softly, watching as Peter crosses his bedroom—he’s moving slowly, now, that boundless energy gone with Peter’s innocence—and picks up a photograph from his desk of him and Tony, both smiling and holding ice cream cones the same colors as their suits. The suit Peter is wearing in the picture is one Sam has never seen before, shiny and metallic and distinctly Iron Man-like rather than the fabric red and blue ensemble hanging on Peter’s closet door.

"It's the Iron Spider suit." Peter says with a tearful smile, noticing where Sam’s attention lies. "Mr. Stark tried to give it to me when he wanted me to join the Avengers, but I refused. I only wear it when I work with the Avengers and he thinks I'm going to be in more danger than usual." Peter swallows hard, hands shaking as he places the photo delicately back down on his desk. "He's gonna be so angry at himself, Mr. Sam." Peter says, his voice small and distinctly childlike. "He told me once that if I died, he would feel like it was his fault. He's gonna be so mad at himself, he's probably gonna start hurting himself again, making enough Iron Man suits to protect every kid in the world, working himself to exhaustion. And it'll be my fault."

Desperate to end that line of thinking before it can get any further, Sam says, “Tony isn't going to blame himself because you aren't going to stay dead, Peter." Peter looks up at Sam with wide eyes. "Why do you think I'm here right now, Peter? I'm dead, too."

"What?!" Peter exclaims, searching Sam's body for some sign of the killing blow. "What happened? Was it Penumbra?"

"Clint, technically." Sam says, laughing despite himself when Peter's jaw drops. "I stole one of his arrows and stabbed myself in the stomach."

"You... You killed... yourself?" Peter says slowly, obviously unable to entirely wrap his head around that concept. Sam nods patiently, sitting down on Peter's bed and gesturing for the teen to join him. Peter hesitantly takes a seat at Sam's right, looking up at him with big, innocent eyes that shine with unshed tears.

"I come from a world where death isn't permanent." Sam explains. "I've died several times in the past, and obviously, none of them were permanent because if they were, I never would have met you." Peter nods, processing Sam's words slowly, cautiously. Sam gives the teen the time he needs, looking around the boy's bedroom until Peter nods. "I'm here because I want to bring you back. You were never supposed to die at Penumbra's hand, you were supposed to live a long life and save a lot of other lives in the process. I'm here to make sure that that happens."

"How does it work?" Peter asks curiously, that analytical side of him coming back out.

"The two of us are going to break out of here and meet up with an old friend of mine who can put you back into your body." Sam says. "Then you'll wake up, good as new." Sam stands, walking over to Peter’s bedroom door. “Come here.” Sam says when Peter doesn’t immediately follow. Peter stands slowly, hesitantly, and Sam holds out a hand.

Peter steps forward and takes Sam’s hand, and Sam opens Peter’s bedroom door and steps outside into the bright whites and flickering lights of Heaven. There’s not much difference between the rows of doors, beyond the names inscribed on each of them. But there is one difference this time around.

This time, the endless hallway isn’t empty.

Billie pushes off of the wall she was leaning against and waves politely to Peter, who shrinks back behind Sam’s arm. His grip on Sam’s hand tightens and Sam smiles, nodding to Billie. “Is it done?” He asks.

Billie returns the nod and says, “Castiel is standing by. All we have to do now is get the soul back to the body.” Billie holds out both of her hands, and Peter shrinks back even further. Sam doubts he knows exactly who Billie is—and there’s no way that Billie reaped Peter personally—but it’s impossible not to feel the darkness radiating from Billie in waves, and Sam figures Peter’s spider-sense probably went into overdrive the second they stepped out of his Heaven.

“Peter, this is Billie.” Sam says as softly as he can, smiling down at the terrified teenager beside him. “She’s Death, which is why you’re nervous. But she’s going to take us back to the warehouse where you died, and then she’s going to put you back in your body. But we have to take her hands so that she can bring us there, okay?”

It’s obvious that Peter doesn’t trust Billie for a second, and Sam can’t blame him. Death isn’t exactly someone people are quick to trust. But right now, Peter doesn’t need to trust Billie. He just has to trust Sam.

When Sam reaches out and takes Billie’s hand, Peter does the same. But his other hand never leaves Sam’s.

And then, they’re standing in an empty space in the middle of a ring of warehouses, and Sam is staring into a pair of familiar blue eyes.


	40. Chapter 40

“Cas.” Sam breathes the word out in disbelief, unable to vocalize anything more than that. Castiel is standing about a foot away from Sam, looking right at him, a hint of worry in his normally flat blue eyes. Sam was expecting to be angry with the angel for abandoning him, but standing here now, the only thing Sam feels is relief.

Castiel is here. He came when Sam called. And now, he can help bring Peter back.

“Sam,” Castiel says, inclining his head toward Billie and Peter. “You found the child.” Peter frowns but doesn’t protest, dropping Billie’s hand but keeping a hold on Sam’s. Sam also drops Billie’s hand, and she walks over to the pair of bodies on the ground a few yards away, examining them.

“Did you say Sam’s name?” Tony asks from Castiel’s side, following his gaze as well as he can. Tony’s eyes end up a few inches to the right of Sam’s head, and Peter’s frown deepens.

“They can’t see you, Peter,” Sam explains, while Castiel says the same thing to Tony and the rest of the Avengers, who have quickly gathered together. While Sam was in Heaven, the Avengers apparently moved his body, because Sam is now lying on its back right next to Peter, so close their hands are almost touching.

“Sam and Peter are both here,” Castiel says, gesturing to the pair. All of the Avengers look in Sam's direction, but only Natasha actually manages to correctly judge where he's standing and make eye contact. "They're accompanied by Death herself, also known as Billie." Billie waves to Castiel as she rejoins everyone else—apparently, she's choosing not to let the Avengers see her, either.

"Good job, Wings," Billie says. "Peter's body is ready to receive him." Billie turns to Sam, who nods.

"Put him back," Sam says, and Billie immediately reaches for Peter's shoulder. Sam sets his jaw and adds, "Then you can have me."

"What?!"

Billie pauses with her hand inches from Peter's right shoulder as the teen gapes at Sam, tears filling his already red eyes once again. "You... you aren't coming with me?" Peter asks in disbelief, and Sam shakes his head hesitantly, exchanging a look with Billie and Castiel, who frowns as well.

"What is it? What's going on?" Tony asks when Castiel glares at Billie, eyes flashing a threateningly bright blue for an instant.

"Sam isn't planning on coming back," Castiel informs the Avengers. "A life for a life, I presume, is the deal he made with Billie. Peter's soul is returned to his body, and in exchange, Billie gets the much sought-after opportunity to reap Sam Winchester."

"Oh, hell no," Tony says aggressively, glaring into empty space a few inches to Billie's right. "You can't do that to him."

"If Sam made the deal, none of us can do anything about it," Castiel says regretfully, sending a glare of his own in Sam's direction.

"Cas, tell them I'm sorry, would you?" Sam asks. "But this was the only way to fix my mistakes. Tell Dean that, too, and please keep an eye on him."

"I've killed you once, Billie, I'd be happy to do it again," Castiel says, ignoring Sam entirely. The reaper-turned-Death just laughs.

"I'm afraid that will be a little more difficult the second time around," Billie says, turning her attention back to Peter. "This has gone on too long, Sam. Say your goodbyes."

"No!" Peter exclaims, jumping backward and away from Billie's hands. His fingers wrap so tightly around Sam's palm that if Sam actually had a body, Peter would probably be breaking his hand. "If you won't bring Sam back, I won't let you bring me back, either!" The threat would probably mean nothing to Billie if it weren't for her and Sam's deal—if Peter isn't saved, she doesn't get Sam's soul.

Leave it to Peter to make this difficult.

"Peter, you don't have a choice," Billie says patiently, holding out her hand and gesturing for the teen to take it. Peter just steps closer to Sam, shaking his head.

"You already took everyone from me, Miss Death," Peter says defiantly but ever-politely. "You took away my mom and my dad and my uncle, and you tried to take away Mr. Stark, too. I won't let you take Sam from me. Not today.”

To Sam's surprise, Billie actually falters. She lowers her hand to her side and frowns, thinking hard about something. "Sam, tell me, what's today's date?" Billie asks suddenly, and Sam recalls what Dean told him the day the brothers discovered that Billie was the new Death. There was a reason that Billie brought Dean back that day: it wasn't his time to die.

Rows and rows of possible deaths, but none of them on that day.

"It's July 16th,” Sam says, and Billie nods slowly, then abruptly disappears.

Peter jumps, releasing Sam's hand only to grab his arm with both hands instead, clinging to it like a lifeline. "What happened? Where'd she go?" Peter asks quietly, his voice slightly muffled by Sam's arm. Castiel looks around, trying to find Billie, then realization dawns on his face.

"Hey, Feathers, what's going on?" Tony asks impatiently.

"Billie has disappeared, likely to check her books."

"Books?" Clint repeats with a smirk. "I knew the grim reaper was an accountant."

"Death has a library of books, each filled with the possible deaths a person may have," Castiel explains. "Some people, like the Winchester brothers, have entire rows of shelves all filled with possible deaths. Other people have only a few options. I know of several people with only one."

"So when you say that this Billie character is checking her books, you mean she's checking to see if Sam is supposed to die today," Steve says with a frown, and Castiel nods.

"Dean killed himself in order to investigate a haunted house once, several years ago," Cas says. "He encountered Billie, who brought him back because none of his possible deaths were on that day, in that way."

A huffing sound draws Sam's attention back to Billie, who has reappeared looking significantly more annoyed than she did when she left. "You are an extremely lucky man, Sam Winchester." The reaper says.

"So I'm not supposed to die today?" Sam asks, and Billie is quick to shake her head.

"No, you have a death on the records for today." She admits. "Only problem is, you didn't do it right. Or rather, _he_ didn't." Billie gestures to Peter, who is half-hidden behind Sam now but still gripping his arm tightly. "You have a death on the books, Sam, but you were supposed to have your chest cut open by a shadow monster, and this kid here beat you to it." Peter shudders involuntarily, obviously reliving his death. Billie's expression softens marginally at the clear fear on Peter's face. She shakes her head and adds, "And _his_ death didn't exist at all today. Those damn demons are interfering with fate again, dragging kids into situations they don't belong in." Billie holds out two glowing hands, shaking her head. "Get out of my hair, Sam, and take your freaking kid with you." Sam reaches out, grabbing one of Billie's hands and nodding to Peter to take the other one, which he does quickly—while still holding on to Sam's arm with his free hand. "Oh, and for the love of God, tell your brother that you both need to stop killing yourselves," Billie adds with a smirk just before she closes her eyes. A bright light blinds Sam and he squeezes his eyes shut.

When he opens them again, he's lying on his back on the concrete with several anxious Avengers standing over him.

"Sam?" Tony asks cautiously when Sam sits up and promptly groans, pulling up his shirt to reveal a sizable, angry red scar over his stomach where he buried the arrow. A souvenir, surely, from Billie, to warn him against pulling something like this again.

"No promises, Billie," Sam says aloud, catching a glimpse of the reaper out of the corner of his eye. She shakes her head once and disappears, and Sam turns his attention to the prone form lying next to him, still unmoving. "Come on, Peter, fight." Sam urges, reaching over and tapping Peter's arm. The teen shoots up with a gasp, his eyes wide and his chest heaving.

"Mr. Stark!" Peter exclaims, launching himself into the arms of his mentor, who stumbles back but successfully rights himself. "Mr. Stark, I was dead! But now I'm not!"

"I know, kid," Tony says, his voice wavering as he fights back tears. The rest of the Avengers are silent, giving the pair the time that they need.

"It was so weird," Peter says. "One second I was taking the hand of this nice lady with blond hair, and the next I was back here!" Tony's eyes widen at this and he sends Sam a curious look. Sam shakes his head, a grin splitting across his face.

"Birdbrain, please take Peter to the Quinjet." Tony carefully extracts Peter's arms from around his waist and passes the teen off to Clint, who leaves without another word. The rest of the Avengers turn on Sam, who continues to smile.

"Billie gave me a gift," Sam explains. "Heaven is the kind of place you don't ever want to leave. Peter's Heaven was a never-ending patrol, just swinging through Queens without ever having to stop any crimes, and when he went home he had his aunt and his uncle waiting for him. Knowing that he gave up having his uncle and that kind of peace would have killed him. Billie made him forget his Heaven, and it's the nicest thing she ever could have done."

"We each get our own Heaven?" Natasha asks curiously and Sam nods.

"Everyone has an individualized Heaven, except in the cases of soulmates and other people with very strong bonds." He explains. "Dean and I discovered several years ago that we share a Heaven, on the sole occasion that we were allowed to remember what followed our deaths after returning to life." Sam pauses, hesitating. He looks past the Avengers crowded around him and watches as Clint and Peter disappear around the side of the warehouse nearest to the Quinjet, Clint's arm around Peter's shoulders. "Peter won't remember what he's missing, but he will remember the act of dying, and that's not going to be easy for him." Sam bites the inside of his cheek, trying to figure out the best way to describe what it's like to die, what it's like to make the conscious decision to take a reaper's hand and leave the world you know behind forever. "Imagine the last time you thought you weren't going to make it out alive," Sam says, "but instead of waking up in a hospital, you wake up twenty feet away, watching your own body take its last breath. Imagine seeing the reactions of your family, your friends, as they watch you die. Imagine someone tapping you on the shoulder and offering you their hand, and telling you that if you take it, there's no turning back. Imagine seeing the pain in the eyes of everyone you love, and taking that hand anyway, and walking away."

The last time Sam saw the Avengers this quiet was when he first told them about the supernatural, over six months ago. Worry and fear war on most of their faces as every Avenger individually reconsiders everything they thought they knew about death, about life.

Sam smiles and says, "Peter may not remember Heaven but he remembers the moment he took a reaper's hand, remembers watching himself die, and he probably remembers Tony crying over his body." He swallows hard and turns to Tony. "It's going to hurt a lot for a very long time, so you guys need to be there for him."

"Of course." Steve and Wilson say simultaneously, exchanging a loaded look and departing with Tony on their tail to offer Peter some much-needed support. Natasha and Bucky, however, linger, both clearly thinking hard about something.

"If Heaven is the perfect moment frozen forever, what's Hell?" Natasha asks quietly, and Sam exchanges a look with Castiel, who has been standing quietly off to the side since Sam returned to his body.

"Hell changes a lot depending on who's in charge," Sam admits, biting the inside of his cheek. "Generally, it's an eternity of torture that isn't bound by the laws of Earth, whether that's moral or physical. Think... fire that burns you into dust that you can still feel even after your nerves have turned to ash, or knives peeling the muscle from your bones layer by layer, and you keep screaming even after you have no vocal cords." An involuntary shudder ripples through Sam's body as he delves into the worst of his memories of Hell. After he manages to get control over his thoughts, Sam shakes his head. "It's the worst thing that can happen to a person, all of your worst nightmares come to life, just endless pain for all eternity until you finally snap and start dealing the pain to others instead."

"That's an option?" Bucky asks, frowning deeply.

Sam nods. "Dean was in Hell for forty years," He says. "For the first thirty, he was tortured day and night, and every day, he was asked if he'd like to get off the rack, stop the pain, and torture someone else instead. Deal that horrible pain to another person instead of having it dealt to him. And after thirty years, he said yes." Sam shakes his head and chews on the inside of his cheek, remembering how broken his brother was by what he did, by what he was forced to do. "Angels like Castiel come in limited supply because they were all created at once by God a millennia ago. Demons are made constantly in Hell through the twisting of human souls. The second a human comes off the rack and starts torturing other people, their soul starts twisting. Eventually, after hundreds of years, they become demons. Dean was rescued before that happened. Others aren't so lucky." Bucky and Natasha both look shaken, and Sam frowns.

"Does it hurt?" Bucky asks, his voice low and filled with acceptance.

"Well, yes, obviously, but neither of you have to worry about that because you aren't going to Hell," Sam says, smirking when the two ex-assassins stare at him in disbelief. "It isn't nearly as easy to go to Hell as you think it is. You pretty much have to be a pure psychopath with no redeeming qualities, be personally targeted by whoever is running the place, or send yourself there on purpose. The vast majority of people in Hell sold their souls to demons."

"So you don't just... end up there?" Natasha asks skeptically, and Sam shakes his head.

"The first time Dean died, he went to Hell because he'd sold his soul to bring me back to life," Sam explains. "The first time I went to Hell, I quite literally jumped in. Every other time we've died, we ended up in Heaven." The two assassins are clearly still unconvinced, and Sam turns again to Castiel, pleading for help with his eyes.

"The Winchester brothers have had several friends of varying moral codes, and of them all only one was sent to Hell, and that one only because he was singled out by the ruler at the time. The brothers rescued him and sent him to Heaven, and he actually helped Sam rescue your friend Peter just now." Castiel says. His tone is flat and unemotional, but his words are clearly having an effect on Natasha and Bucky. "Furthermore," Castiel continues, "I believe Sam is an excellent example of how difficult it is to be sent to Hell. At this moment in time, the blood in his veins is approximately half that of a demon, a creature that has no business in Heaven. As evidenced by the events of today, upon Sam's death he will nonetheless have a place in Heaven." Apparently comforted by this, Bucky and Natasha finally take their leave, following the rest of the Avengers to the Quinjet and leaving Sam and Castiel alone.

"Thank you, Cas." Sam says, hoping that the angel knows the platitude is meant for more than just his reassurances to Bucky and Natasha.

"I'm sorry for not coming to your aid sooner, Sam," Castiel says. "And I'm sorry I have to leave again so soon."

"What's going on, Cas? Where have you been this past year and a half?"

"I'm aware of your memory problems, Sam, so I know that you likely don't remember what has been happening in Heaven as of late," Castiel says patiently. "Angels are, as you said, a limited resource, and as of now, there are only about fifteen of us left. We all must remain in Heaven the majority of the time, as Heaven is powered by angel grace and fifteen angels is barely enough to keep it running." Suddenly, the lack of patrols and the flickering lights Sam witnessed in Heaven’s hallways makes a lot more sense. "My being here now is a risk, but one that I had to take."

"I'm sorry, Cas, I had no idea," Sam says, feeling shocked and more than a little guilty. He's spent the past year or so thinking Castiel abandoned him when in reality Cas had no other choice. And despite the problems Castiel is facing in Heaven, he did hear Sam's prayer, and he risked a lot to help Sam save Peter.

"I will always try to come when you call, Sam, but know that it will not always be possible," Castiel says regretfully. "Please tell Dean the same when you next speak to him."

"Of course," Sam says, pulling the angel into a tight hug. "Stay safe, okay?"

"And you as well." Castiel takes a step back, preparing to return to Heaven, then pauses. "Oh, and Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"No amount of demon blood could ever make you a monster."

The sound of wings fills the air and Castiel is gone, back to a Heaven that apparently can barely keep the lights on. Sam smiles to himself and turns, heading back to the Quinjet with Castiel's final farewell ringing in his ears.

Sam's vision has come to pass. Peter is alive, and while he'll probably struggle with his death for a while, Sam is confident that he'll recover. Sam's fears of his own death were unfounded, and he hasn't lost the trust of the Avengers at all. And now, the Avengers know more of Sam's life, another piece of the puzzle they're always trying to solve.

Sam's relationship with the afterlife is a complicated one, to say the least. While he'll never admit it out loud, there was a part of him that wondered, while he was dying in Bucky's arms, whether he would end up in Heaven or in Hell. Whether the demon blood in his veins had finally overpowered whatever good there might have been in him.

Now, Sam knows for sure. When his time does come—which, hopefully, won't be for quite a while—he'll have an endless road trip with his brother to look forward to.

**Author's Note:**

> New chapters every Saturday!


End file.
